It’s just gone six and there are pale splashes of light leaking through the blanket over the window. My muscles protest as I lurch to my feet. The chair has come loose and is resting on all four legs. I slide it back under the table, pull the blanket off the rod and step outside. The light is milky. There is no sign of the storm, no fallen branches, nothing out of place. There are no trees close to my shack. The whole place is quiet. No sign of Granddad and I’m kinda pleased I’ve beaten him to the verandah for once. I risk sniffing my armpits. Big mistake. I smell like I’ve been ridden hard and put away wet. Then again, I haven’t had a shower in how long? I’ve slept in my clothes and I got all sweaty playing Dance Dance. Pretty soon, Granddad will have to take me outside, with a clothes peg on his nose, and hose me down. I grab some fresh clothes and head for the shower. I’m not looking forward to it and as soon as the water hits me I want to scream. It’s impossible to stop the sharp intake of breath.
