Firefly Cloak by Sheri Reynolds

Author:Sheri Reynolds [Reynolds, Sheri]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
ISBN: 9781618580429
Publisher: Turner Publishing Company
Published: 2012-08-21T00:00:00+00:00

EVERY FEW HOURS, Sheila checked her shingles to see how far they'd spread. They spread in either direction from the central cluster, a raging red band, multiplying, sometimes skipping ahead and leaving skin unblistered, and sometimes trailing along only to bloom into another clump of prickling, firey pimples.

They consumed her. Like algae taking over a pond. And they consumed her mind. She could think of nothing else—just the itch and throb, electric, numbing and shocking at once. And there were ghost pains. Pains in her knee, pains beside her navel, numb spots at the corners of her mouth.

The woman who worked at The House of Possibility went over the rules. No alcohol or drugs. No men. No going or coming after 10 P.M. Sheila tried to listen, but it took all her strength to try not to scratch. She wanted to tear off her skin in strips and shed it, like a tree or a snake.

The woman talked nonstop. She worked four days a week, afternoons and evenings. There was always someone there. They had twelve beds total, five were empty—now just four. She offered her soup and crackers, but Sheila just wanted to rest.

The woman led Sheila up to an attic where a rope was stretched from beam to beam, knotted to eyebolts, a makeshift closet. Along the rope, there were women's and children's clothes, all sizes mingled together, mostly out of style. Sheila and the woman sorted through and found a skirt, two blouses, some shorts and T-shirts, and a pair of old canvas topsiders. The woman heaped the clothes over her arm and took them down to wash while Sheila bathed and rested.

She couldn't stand for water to hit her shingles at all. She barely splashed them, didn't bother with soap or a rag.

They radiated around her, a wavy pattern weaving over her ribs. They might be pretty if they didn't hurt so much. Maybe she'd gotten shingles to help her go off drugs. Now she had a chance. Not like when she was the mermaid in the conch shell. She didn't have a chance then.

Her daddy would say the shingles were a gift from God. Maybe all painful things were gifts from God. Maybe God was the greatest sadist ever. Look what he put his only begotten son through.

When she worked in the conch shell, the Christians would come sometimes with their signs that said REPENT or THE WAGES OF SIN IS DEATH, and they'd march up and down in front of Fantasies and shout out their Bible verses and tell Sheila she was going to hell until Reggie came outside to run them off.

They tried to preach to Reggie, too, but he just said, "I'd rather be in hell than in heaven with you," and Sheila felt the same way. So often, God's followers were mean people, people who hated more than they loved. And what else could you expect—the one they worshipped kept beating them down. No wonder they had so much hate.

She'd already

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