( A kid who is once more captivated by his stick, now using it as if a baton to try — and fail — to part the puddle's waters. Imagine, only, if he had a little boat. )
Uh-huh. Hurts him a lot. He has to... ( Is he whispering for horror, secrecy or glee? It's hard to tell. ) Cut them off himself. And he grows new ones for himself after. But they're not the same. They're like... uhhhh. Like...
( He waves the stick around for a moment, seemingly inspired. ) Like wooden legs! But not wood... ummmm... still. It hurts a lot to cut his real ones off. I hope he keeps having to. ( Muttered: ) My father died. And my friend knew. But he wouldn't tell me. So I hope he has to cut every last limb off. Every single one. I hope it hurts.
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( A kid who is once more captivated by his stick, now using it as if a baton to try — and fail — to part the puddle's waters. Imagine, only, if he had a little boat. )
Uh-huh. Hurts him a lot. He has to... ( Is he whispering for horror, secrecy or glee? It's hard to tell. ) Cut them off himself. And he grows new ones for himself after. But they're not the same. They're like... uhhhh. Like...
( He waves the stick around for a moment, seemingly inspired. ) Like wooden legs! But not wood... ummmm... still. It hurts a lot to cut his real ones off. I hope he keeps having to. ( Muttered: ) My father died. And my friend knew. But he wouldn't tell me. So I hope he has to cut every last limb off. Every single one. I hope it hurts.