I: Zane
I remember I dreamed in full the first three chapters of my novel, word for word.
The little girl betrayed by her abusive parents, saved by her courageous older brother who rowed them both through hard headwinds into the warm arms of an unmapped island that grew heavy fruits and gave freely of fat fish and where they learned to survive in exactly the time it took to exhaust the few resources they had brought with them. One resource, however, was not replenished: the books the girl brought with them. Water-laden and fragile, they were worked asunder by the girl’s hungry reading within weeks and they lived on like the jigsaw fragments of lost codices, black with mold and wandering ink, loved but no longer able to be read. Before long they broke like the girl’s heart.