Read Touchstone 1 - Stray for Free Online Page A

outside that class, but we got on well. He was funny and nice, acted the clown to hide he was shy. He moved schools the next year, and early this year I heard that he had died. He’d always had a weak heart, was occasionally sick because of it. I didn’t know what to say, what to feel.
    Mum says there’s three bad things about dying: pain and other unpleasantries, the way your friends and relatives feel after, and the fact that you don’t get to find out what happens next. Mum’s an atheist – she says she’s never met a religion that didn’t sound made up. I’m agnostic, because I like the idea of there being something more, but the possibility of it working like Mum thinks it does – that you just stop – doesn’t particularly bother me.
    I don’t remember very much about the past couple of days, but through it all was threaded this horror that no-one would know. That Mum would never know. And, yeah, that I wouldn’t find out any of the explanations behind all this.
    My family’s a healthy one. Colds occasionally, minor temperatures, chicken pox. I’ve never been to hospital. I needed one yesterday. I don’t know the name for what I had. I thought you caught colds or flu from other people, not just abruptly developed them. Whatever it was, I couldn’t breathe, could barely move. I don’t know what my temperature was, since I felt hot and cold at random, but I’m pretty sure I spent half my time hallucinating (unless there really were dragons and sea monsters spiralling across the ceiling).
    Last night was another moonfall. The inside of the building glowed, and I could see the light misting past the windows. I couldn’t tell if it was exactly the same, since I couldn’t get up to go on the roof. I didn’t feel drunk either – I was so out of it I’m hardly sure it happened – but I remember feeling warm and relaxed and not having to fight so much to breathe.
    Today I’m not exactly better, but most of the gunk clogging my lungs is gone, and the fever, and I’ve managed to get upstairs to the roof, and sit here and write this, even if it’s taken me half the day. Abandoned as it is, I’m so glad to have found this town. I feel vulnerable enough here. I wouldn’t have survived the last few days without solid shelter. I’m feeling very small at the moment, but so glad to be breathing.
    All the effort making my felt blanket, and now it really really needs a wash.
    Tuesday, December 11
    Not entertaining
    It doesn’t get light till past 10am on my watch now. And dark around midnight. Now that I’m breathing better, it seems to take forever for the night to end. All I’ve done so far today is lie on the roof watching the birds on the lake. I’m worried that I’ve hurt my eyes somehow, since random parts of the world are blurry and not quite focused.
    I’m going to go down for a forage soon. If I feel stronger later, I might even try to clean my wool collection. Survivor Cass needs some time-consuming projects to keep her sane.
    Not that the prospect of trying to relight my fire is anything to look forward to. That’s going to have to wait more than a few days – it just takes too much concerted energy to do, and I can’t even climb a flight of stairs without having to sit down.
    Wednesday, December 12
    It’s not paranoia if they really are watching you
    I’m stronger today – woke up incredibly hungry, which made me realise how little I ate while I was ill. I’ve been getting a lot done this morning, just by stopping and resting every few minutes.
    The idea of lighting the fire is still in the way-too-much category, but I’ve managed to clean out my room again, and washed my wool mound and blanket. The blanket didn’t like that, and has developed splits. Once it’s dry I’m going to have to be careful taking it back up to my room, or I’ll have felt strips instead.
    While it dries I’m searching the nearest buildings. I’m increasing my collection of metal and pottery objects,