His mind was focused on the tiny claws that moved up and down his skin and through his hair.
He tried to think about other things. He didn’t want to die with the images of the Warden, Mr. Sir, and the lizards etched into his brain.
Instead, he tried to see his mother’s face. His brain took him back to a time when he was very little, all bundled up in a snowsuit.
He and his mother were walking, hand in hand, mitten in mitten,
when they both slipped on some ice and fell and rolled down a snow-covered hillside.
They ended up at the bottom of the hill. He remembered he almost cried, but instead he laughed.
His mother laughed, too. He could feel the same light-headed feeling he felt then, dizzy from rolling down the hill.
He felt the sharp coldness of the snow against his ear. He could see flecks of snow on his mother’s bright and cheery face.
This was where he wanted to be when he died. “Hey, Caveman, guess what?” said Mr. Sir.
“You’re innocent, after all. I thought you’d like to know that. Your lawyer came to get you yesterday. Too bad you weren’t here.”
The words meant nothing to Stanley, who was still in the snow. He and his mother climbed back up the hill and rolled down again, this time on purpose.
Later they had hot chocolate with lots of melted marshmallows. “It’s getting close to 4:30,” said Mr. Pendanski. “They’ll be waking up.”
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