I dropped it a few inches off the ground, just to see if I could. The blob of flesh fell with a slight squishing sound. I picked up the blob of fles... again, this time with my right hand, and stuck it to my side. It remained there, dangling and shapeless. I grabbed it again and pulled it off, smoothing the skin underneath. It seemed to confirm my earlier theory -- that my own imagination manipulated my body, not my physical act of sculpting. I closed my eyes and concentrated on my own. That's another story.Henry needed workers ... not skilled workers but people who would work, and living a sharecroppers life in the south was unending work for next to nothing. White trash ... not a nice term ... but they were in the same boat as the 'liberated' blacks. Not even second class citizens. A pretty girl seldom made it out of high school. She was on her back working for some hick country lawman ... or his inbred nephew, and daddy had better not say anything about it.Advertisements. More

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