I’m not damned. I’m not a minion. I’m not evil. I’m just scared. Just like you are.“Why? Why are you here in me?”I don’t know. Honest, I don’t.“Miranda, you’re talking in your sleep again,” the woman next to us spoke. “Wake up, dear. Now you can start over.”“Yes, Mother,” the girl said.So you’re Miranda. Nice to meet you, too. You don’t have to speak out loud. I can hear your thoughts.“You can’t!” she thought. At least it wasn’t out loud.I can. Please talk to me. Please tell me who you are and where I am.“I am a poor sinner and you have come to torment me for my sins.”No. I don’t give a damn about your sins.“You are a foul being.”I’m not. Really, I’m not. I’m sorry I’m here. I don’t want to torment you.“Why are you here?”My Pa told us he was a time traveler and we didn’t believe him. But it’s nothing like he said.“That is impossible.”That’s what I said. But here I am. When am I? What date is it?“Good Friday, the fourteenth day of April in the year of our Lord 1865.”Oh god! No!“Do not. ’ Alma flew once again, travelling rapidly over the landscape, she was glad to get away from the awful sights and sounds of the birth of volcano, but was uncertain that what the trees were to show her next would be any improvement. She stopped over a barren expanse of desert land and could see a few sparse bushes and shrubs dotted around the landscape, in what was a vast difference to the lush landscape of greenery she had arrived from. ‘Where are we now?’ ‘That which shall become Mesopotamia.’ ‘What am I looking at? Another volcano?’ The voices ignored her flippant tone, ‘No. An earthquake.’ Before Alma could respond, again she heard a rumbling from below the surface. And again it grew steadily louder. She watched as the sand dunes moved and crumbled. The ground shifted and clouds of sand sprang up. After just a few seconds, the sound stopped and only the new hollows and dips in the surface of the sand told of the massively destructive power that had just passed through this.
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