They clung to her hair and got into her nose so that she wanted to sneeze. she held her hand over her mouth trying not to breathe rather than reveal her hiding place. Later, when she was sure he was asleep, she would creep out and wash her face and brush her hair. All would be well, then; there would be a few good days when she would be happy. He would hug his little daughter and tell her he loved her… until the next time… the next time she had to crawl under the bed with the dust motes. ---written by Joe F. Stierheim | 
