Curls

There was a little girl who had a little curl. Tinka bolted upright and looked around. Everything was haunted now and ghosts roamed about in the middle of the day, but this was not one of the new dead.
“Hello?,” Tinka swung down off her bunk and grabbed her robe, “Show yourself.”
The room grew cold, yet remained silent.
“I know you’re there,” Tinka sighed. “Just come out.  I can help you.”
There was a little girl who had a little curl.
“And when she was bad she was very very bad.” Tinka finished up the old children’s rhyme. “Do you have curls?”
A loud crash made Tinka jump. The door to the showers hung open, flapping.
“Wake up, Tink,” a sleepy voice called from the darkness of the barracks. “You’re sleepwalking.”
“Sorry,” she said after a moment. The response was a loud snore. She looked around at her teammates. They were the only Wide Horizon crew to make it back from the reaches of deep space. By day they were hailed as heroes who facilitated the Return. Parades, balls, and pep talks at schools. At night, the military imprisoned them in one lead-lined room stuffed with rickety bunk beds and their old gear.
There was a little girl who had a little curl.
Tinka sighed and moved toward the showers. The room was hot and steamy.
“Very clever,” Tinka smiled as a figure materialized in the mist.

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