Beth has been weary for too long. Her head aches with information. Knowings. She has done what she was asked to do. Others can merely do what they want with the information presented. The veils are dropping.
They come when night falls. In the shadows in her room, hall. Front porch. Sometimes small stones are found in the backyard. She hears them tossed. Her antenna is up. Aware. There is nothing more Beth can do.
They are here.
She watches the environmentalists run from one perceived crisis to another. Now it is fracking. A ploy to take the attention off the pipeline that will soon be pushed through. Just like the non-disclosure of fracking chemicals so deftly pushed through the North Carolina Legislature.
They continue to toss the crumbs. Like foul they run hither and yond. Shirt sleeves are rolled up, data is collected. It is well nigh intense. Lots of meetings. Beth attends. She is mindful of what is really going on. Sure, they will frack if they can.
The real story is above. Ships are seen daily now. It a kind of a dome situation. Movies like Hunger Games attract the masses. They want to see fear, death, brutality. They don't know it. They, too, are following the bread crumbs.
Beth is home on retreat. Resting. Quiet. She loves her own good company. Best.
The sounds continue. Shadows are evident everywhere. They are here.
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