” "I guess so. That's not such a bad thing though is it?" Sandra said as she hoped that the next class would not be as dull as the name suggested, a...though she wasn't sure how much excitement like the previous class her young body would be able to stand.As it turned out, History was taught by none other than the Head master. Sandra wasn't sure if it was a sigh of relief or disappointment that escaped her... when she entered the class room, either way, she had to struggle to prevent memories of. A broken machine makes only echoes. Words. Words. Words. ‘Echoes.’ ‘Of?’ Composed. It’s forgotten. ‘Things that’ve already been said. Or sounded. Or made.’ ‘Viruses? Loops?’ ‘Quotes.’ Pause. ‘Writer’s block?’ ‘No…but…’ ‘Plagiarism.’ His affect is sour. ‘Words, words, words.’ The sky darkened. She had lost time. ‘Hamlet.’ His face twitches. That same small tic. He is unaware of smiling. She had pleased him more than she could know. ‘My words fly up, my thoughts remain below: Words without. More

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