Thor flinched. He knew that voice too well. He turned restlessly, trying to force it out of his head. But it was there, always there, in his heart.
Thor’s elbow hit the TV tray. He cursed, throwing a plastic plate across the room.
“Get out!” he shouted. “Go away. Just leave me.”
He didn’t mean it. Not really. But he was tired and the pain was no easier. Loki, that cursed son of an ice giant. He saw him hanging from Thanos’s hand, fighting for air, for life. He heard his brother’s hoarse voice:
“You—will never be—a god.”
His death was too sudden. Thanos had thrown his body at Thor’s feet, so still and broken in a way that Loki was never broken, never finished. It was pretend. It had to be. Thor had bowed beside his brother, praying for some trick, some miracle.
One day they would have to ring the bell. It was inevitable. With the increasing attacks from the cave crawlers, it was only a matter of time before barbed and electric wire was breached and the town would be overcome. So there Peter stood in the hopes of saving at least a few of the townsfolk, ready to ring the bell.
A light voice made him turn. “You know they won’t come in the daytime. You can relax, silly.”
She had carried the umbrella since she was a girl. Sunshine and rain, there was the umbrella in her hand like a gentleman’s cane. And walking in a moonlight garden with her sister, there was the umbrella spread as always.
Angie hadn’t seen her sister in ten years. Both of them had changed, but there was that umbrella.
For more than fifty years, every morning at eight o’ clock, Erin O’Lay had taken the dinghy around to see the dragon’s head. For much more time than that the dragon had floated on the great deep of a blue ocean. The sun had not set for some time, and while the sun was shining the dragon was content to sleep in her warmth. But when the sun set, the dragon woke, and the dragon had been not a little offended to find a whole town on its back. That was when Erin O’Lay first went out with the dinghy.