Fucking Ass With Carrot2

So why was I feeling stuff crawling on me every few seconds? Why was I scratching at imaginary itches on my arms and legs?I was thirsty, too. It hadn't been all that long, I knew, since I'd had a drink of water. But it seemed long.I waited for rescue. After awhile, huddled there, in the perfect darkness, I must have slept.When I awoke, I was astonished to see a dim light at the entrance to the mine shaft, high above. It was daylight! I'd slept through the night, sitting in that cramped space in the half-broken barrel, and no rescuer had come.That was remarkable. Aunt Rachel knew where we were. Why hadn't she sent someone to check on us?I turned on the helmet light again and, with some relief, saw that it had made at least a temporary recovery overnight. The light from the lamp above my eyes was ample. I took my broken barrel stave in hand again, climbed to the top of the barrel, and made a few more passes at snagging the rope on the nails extending from the stave. As before, I touched. "Mark, you've got to snap out of this. You just sit around,either here or at the university. You should be on the lecture circuit, or working on a project or something. Anything."Mark shook his head. "I'm sorry, Wanda. I just feel so guilty, taking credit for someone else's work." He ran his hand through his hair and looked up at her. "I've never told anyone this story." What story?" I almost got mugged by a guy with a knife in a laundromat when I, we, were undergrads at Cal Tech. There was a girl, woman, who bashed his head into a sink and then used his own knife to cut his throat." Oh, Christ." Yeah. She didn't leave any evidence behind - no DNA, no fingerprints, not a hair or a fiber. The thing is that she had written the breakthrough equations on a table with a marking pen. I talked the crime lab out of the tabletop later, so I know that it really happened."Even then I lied about it. I told the detective on the case that I recognized some of it when I knew exactly what I was.
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