Ahhh! Gaaah! Grrr! Poodles and pitchforks and ponytails! Who would ever have thought that flying could be this difficult?
Well, she is just twelve…
I haven’t hurt myself so far, so that’s all right, but I’ve made all these craters in the ground around me.
All right, yes, I’ve left Metropolis already, because I’d never have dared practised flying like this if I’d still been in the Big Apricot.
Right out of Superman 3….
And I’ve accidentally felled two trees already,
Well, I’m downright proud of myself that I found this road I can follow, Interstate 70.
I don’t know why your accuracy struck me as so funny, but it did…. Maybe because I’ve driven all the way across Kansas on Interstate 70.
August 19: So here’s the long and short of it. Dr Klein tells me I can’t work. I had to call Perry and tell him. And he informed me, regretfully, that if I couldn’t work, then he would have to let me go and hire another reporter who could do the work in my place. What could I tell him? You can’t fire me, Perry? But he could, and he had to.
Pretty much illegal…(As long as she had worked there at least one year.) It's not always been that way, but it was then, too.
I’m lost; I have no control. I’m tossed by the waves of a horrible sea. I’m stretched and torn and scrambled by the tremors of an earthquake whose epicentre is in smack dab in my belly. I’m tossed, torn, twisted, turned inside out and pried open, and the forces converging on me just won’t let up. I can only scream as another wave of red hot pain is rolling over me, and then another one, and another.
Nice description.
And I close my eyes and thank the Gods and the forces of the universe, and my wonderful Clark whom I knew so briefly, for my miracle baby on Christmas.
Awww….
And then suddenly there is a hand on my shoulder, and I yell and fly up so hard that I break clear through the ceiling of the car.
Who? Who? Come back soon and tell us who!
