She found it at the end of the book and it was written in a hurry because the line was fuzzy but then it slanted forward and dropped a dot below it as if it had came alive and it said the strangest ordinary thing: !

That’s that mark, she thought, that ordinary mark. But suddenly it jumped off her book with ink splashing everywhere. The floor jolted, the windows broke, and the mark leapt outside. So did she. Traces of that black, ominous ink.

The walls tore open. A roar of voices. Every sound of shock the world had ever made.  Laughter. screams. gasps. Hand clutching. Heartbeat. Beat. Beat. Trees bent. Dogs howled. People spun. 

Breath caught. It’s not that mark. It’s the mark. The mark that ended certainty,

right beside her.