Six Sentence Sunday: Full Metal Librarian XXXVIII

Six Sentence Sunday is open to all writers. Just pick a six sentence passage from anything you’ve written—published, unpublished, whatever—and post it on your blog on Sunday.

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One of my earliest readers for this story asked me if it was important that Clyota have a therapist.   I personally thought that anyone whose mother was a famous space hero-turned-mass murderer should at least consider it, if only for a place to duck the paparazzi for an hour once a week . . . 

 I’d called Rafe to cancel my appointment, since I would have to meet with my defense lawyer.  I didn’t tell him that, and he didn’t ask.  He only said that if Thursday wasn’t good, he had the afternoon free, if I wanted to talk.

I didn’t want to talk—I wanted to scream and throw things and crawl into a hole and make the world forget it had ever heard of me.  This was probably, I decided, exactly the frame of mind of someone who needed to talk to a psychologist.

So, I went.


 Previous Installments:

First ♦ Second ♦ Third ♦ Fourth ♦ Fifth ♦ Sixth
Seventh ♦ Eighth ♦ Ninth ♦ Tenth ♦ Eleventh ♦ Twelfth  ♦ Thirteenth
Fourteenth ♦ Fifteenth ♦ Sixteenth ♦ Seventeenth
Eighteenth ♦ Nineteenth ♦ Twentieth ♦ Twenty-first ♦ Twenty-second
Twenty-third ♦ Twenty-fourth ♦ Twenty-fifth ♦ Twenty-sixth
Twenty-seventh ♦ Twenty-eighth ♦ Twenty-nine ♦ Thirty
Thirty-one ♦ Thirty-second ♦ Thirty-third ♦ Thirty-fourth  ♦ Thirty-fifth
Thirty-sixth ♦Thirty-seventh