So far I have only one juvenile character and I wish her no harm. I don't believe in protecting my characters, however. Everyone is mortal. If I get my readers so attached to a person that it causes them pain to see them go, then I've created something powerful.
Meet Emme, a bright-eyed twelve year old girl who read every book in her small town before it was erased by disease. I don't know where her story goes from here. I hope it's somewhere happy.
Lance looks at every face but Emme's. “'Scuse me?”
From her tippy-toes, she shouts: “Middle name.
Sergeant Gord's middle name. That clear, soldier?”
He lifts his hands high as the chains allow,
Pales and shrugs. “His first name was Bill, I think.
I don't know.” Emme climbs down, paces and smiles.
“So, you and the Sergeant were not close friends.”
She returns to her chair, sits halfway, stops,
Turns with a finger raised. “Just one more thing:
What came first, Private Lance, chicken or egg?”
From Cathartes Aura Part Three, Chapter Two, Verse Five.
(Still working on the title. Any suggestions? Cathartes Aura at the Last Call Mall? Something evoking a clearance sale at the last shopping center on earth.)