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It hadn’t been dark when he had fallen asleep, he thinks, though he can’t really remember for sure. Anyway, it’s dark now but he’s awake and he feels even worse than he had before he’d fallen asleep, which he wouldn’t have thought was possible. His head feels weird and thinking is difficult. He should do something about this, but he’s in no condition to figure out what. Not that this is going to happen. Besides, he tries to scold himself with the rational part of his brain, he’s used to taking care of himself. You need rest mode tonight,> Moon tried again, internally this time, more snarled than comforting despite his position as the Naptime Attendant. He couldn't help it, he was frustrated. Sun was driving him crazy with all of his anxiety, and the hammering of the torrent on the roof of the Pizzaplex was already enough to set him on edge. He drummed his fingertips against the sides of the barrels before leaping off again, crawling on all fours along the floor.
Sun didn't immediately reply, but Moon could sense his curiosity, anxious, but tentatively inquisitive.
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What’s wrong?” he asks immediately, grabbing Eddie’s arm and pulling him inside when Eddie doesn’t immediately step forwards on his own.
Delightful story about a fearful little mouse who keeps hearing noises - “Sssh, what was that?!” - and is a great book to teach children that the noises you hear at night are usually harmless! It has a good repetitive dialogue which has helped our sons language skills, and the various sound effects which he loves joining in with - when the branch tap tap taps the window, that’s his cue to tap tap tap on our headboard!I hate storms,> he muttered lowly, almost a whisper, highly uncharacteristic of the bright and vibrant animatronic. Moon couldn't help but soften at that, slumping a little. But this means he’s completely alone. He half wishes he could trade places with Chris, really, he thinks, as he lies atop his sweaty sheets with his face pressed into a pillow. He’s miserable enough to want to be in the presence of someone who cares about him. Someone who will put a hand to his forehead and touch his hair and bring him water so he doesn’t have to drag himself to the kitchen while trying his hardest not to pass out. Diana Hendry grew up by the sea and has worked as a journalist, English teacher and tutor in Creative Writing at the University of Bristol. Her poetry has won a number of awards including first prize in the 1996 Housman Society Competition. From 1997-1998 she was Writer in Residence at Dumfries & Galloway Royal Infirmary. She lives in Edinburgh. As if on cue, a bolt of lightning arced the sky outside and the thunder rattled the very floor of the Pizzaplex. Moon jumped, Sun shrieked, and it distracted him into a misstep on the landing; his ankle joint caught on his other foot and he tumbled forward, head over jingly heels, face first into the ball pit. Sorry, sorry,> he whimpered in response, strung tighter than a violin and twice as screechy.