Dipper could feel it coming like sighting ominous
black clouds hanging over the horizon. It was the calm before the tornado, a
pause too long when picking up the phone, the hitch of a chest. He had no idea
what his omniscience was going to dump on him this time. But Dipper knew
whatever it would be, it was going to be bad.He walked through the kitchen wall to the living room and saw Mabel on the
couch, knitting tiny little booties for the babies. Dipper joined her there,
sitting on the couch and wrapping his arms around her, his sister, his twin,
his anchor.Mabel didn’t even pause in her knitting. At seven months along, she had gotten
used to Dipper glomming on to her.“Everything okay bro-bro?” Mabel asked.
“No,” Dipper said after a long pause, the words and the process to push them
out of his mouth taking him some time.
Fireflies
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