Story #11

She forked hay to the horses, humming quietly to herself. It was getting ready to be another hot day. She kept on thinking of the black haired figure bent over the table. She climbed up onto the wooden barrier keeping her mule in his stall. She felt her bare feet lift off the rough plank floor, and sat on the smooth wood, worn by years of animals reaching their heads over. Her mule chomped hay next to her, and she stroked his long ears. Rays of sunlight found their way in the door and caressed her back. She sat there, eyes closed, enjoying the warmth and peace of the barn. The animals eating made a comforting sounds, and she didn’t want to go back to the house. There was ample work to be done, and moments like this were to be cherished. It had only been a few minutes, and she figured she’d have time before she should go back in. There wasn’t really any knowing what he’d do after he was done eating, and she didn’t really want to find out, but just then she did. The barn door creaked open tentatively, and she screeched, jumped so badly she fell backwards, and sat on the barn floor looking dazed. Gi looked down at her in confusion, not all the way in the door yet. She sat, mouth slightly open, eyes huge for a few seconds, and just for a fraction of one of those seconds, she could have sworn she saw amusement in his brilliant eyes. She scrambled to her feet, and brushed herself off.

“Oh you finished.” He cocked his head. She smiled to herself as she noticed he still had a bit of egg on the corner of his mouth. She guessed he must have seen which way she went when she left the house. He didn’t answer her, and she didn’t really expect him to. He stood there, nearly smiling, as she brushed herself off, looked up and smiled, embarrassed. He looked to the left of her, at the animals, a queer look on his face. Cautious, but interested. She followed his gaze to Shad, who had picked his head up and was looking at her, ears forward, chewing. She looked back at Gi, and smiled encouragingly. She stepped towards Shad, and rubbed his forehead. He nodded his big bony head and rolled his eyes, taking another mouthful of hay. She beckoned to Gi, and he looked unsure, but walked towards her slowly. He stood beside her, but when she motioned that he could pet Shad, he shoved his hands into his pockets. She shrugged, and stroked the inside of one of her mule’s ears. He stretched his neck out, eyes half closed, lower lip wobbling and she giggled. She glanced at the boy out of the corner of her eye, but he was looking at her, not Shad. She looked back at the mule quickly, and pretended to be fully absorbed in petting him. Finally she turned to Gi, pointed to the animal and said,
“Mule.” He was clearly thinking, and then pointed to one of the horses slowly,

“Mule?” Veronica shook her head.

“Horse.” He looked confused, and pointed to another horse, and she repeated herself. He looked hard at the floor and then pointed to her and asked,
“Veronica?” She nodded.

“Human.” He looked very confused. She pointed to Shad,

“Mule. Shad. Shad is his name.” He clearly didn’t understand, but said nothing in response. They were quiet for a few minutes, and Veronica focused entirely on Shad. Then gingerly, she found another hand stroking him beside hers. She glanced over, and Gi was frowning, concentrating, and leaning forward with only one arm. She smiled at him, and the mule kept eating with his begrudging pleasure at the attention. Eventually she heard a shuffle of feet, and found he’d moved closer. He looked fascinated with the animal, and was petting with both hands now. Running his hand along his jaw and over his velvety nose. He was very gentle, and seemed very distressed when he accidentally pulled one of the sensitive whiskers on his nose. Veronica stepped back, and Gi instantly did the same. As soon as she moved, his eyes were on her and did move. He was facing her full on, and she shifted uneasily in his unfailing glance. She had just meant to take Shad’s halter off, but he’d treated it like she was turning to attack him. It might take awhile to earn his trust. She took the halter off, and hung it on the wall behind them. She turned to Gi and jerked her head.

“Come on.” He followed her with the same mistrustful expression. She led him back to the house, and into the livingroom. She saw him jump as the screen door slammed behind him. He followed her into the kitchen, where she stopped short. All the food, everything was gone. Except the coffee. The entire jar of herring was gone, and the plate of eggs was spotless. She forced her feet to move forward before she showed her shock. He’d eaten all of it. She felt the near uncontrollable urge to burst out laughing, but swallowed it fiercely. Gi sat down at the table, clearly oblivious, while she got to work making more food for her Grandfather, who hadn’t stirred yet. That was probably due to the late night and hard work. She stirred up more eggs as quickly as she could, as Gi watched her silently. The hair on the back of her neck prickled, but she kept her eyes on her work. When it was ready, she walked past him and down the hall. He rose, puzzled, but she said nothing as she went to rouse her grandfather.

Grandfather ate without speaking to anyone. He was in pain, Vern could tell. He’d probably hurt his back pretty bad lifting Gi last night. Gi sat silently, but she was getting used to that. They sat around the table, saying nothing as Grandfather ate. Every so often she’d think of how much he’d eaten and snort into her coffee. Grandfather would look at her and she’d look down at the table and sip silently. Gi’s eyes shifted from one to the other, not understanding.

At last, Grandfather rose from table, grunting. He spoke to Gi, and Vern blinked. He’d just spoken to him--In his own language? She stayed seated as they made towards the door.

“Where are you going, Grandfather?” He coughed through his beard.

“For a walk with the boy. We’ll be back in a bit, don’t wait.” She nodded, hiding the concern behind her blue eyes. She brushed a lock of hair out of her face and forced a smile.

“Alright. Be careful.” He grunted in response, and Gi glanced at her as they headed out the door. The door shut, and she sat for a moment longer, trying to get her thoughts together. Her grandfather, a man she’d known her whole life, had just spoken a language she’d never even heard of before. She shook her head faintly and got to work clearing the table. She washed the dishes and came back to wipe of the table and stopped short when she saw the indentation in the table. She frowned, and then her eyes widened as she touched it. It was a fist print, in the exact place where Gi had gripped it when she was changing his bandages.

.....

Song

Sit Through the Sermon

Sit through the sermon and walk home in the rain,

Eat a cold dinner and shake off the pain,

But pain is such a heavy thing, laid hard around your heart.

Sealed tight around the edges and you can’t find a place to start,

To peel it up and breath again, your vision growing dim,

Drowning in your emptiness unable still to swim.

Walk through the field and part the mist,

In early morning haze.

Feel the tears well up inside, and remember his smiling face.

Cross the creek without a sound, and finally look around.

Back in the place where you met him first,  

How did you end up here?

You feel the grief in the hardest way,

And break down into tears.

Sit through the sermon without hearing a word,

Another week has gone by in a blur.

You walk home in the rain and sit in the window,

Let the rain soak through your clothes.

Doubling over you gasp for breath,

The sobs break through like daggers.

Jump down from the window,

Take off at a run.

Doesn’t matter if you know what you’re running from.

You’ll sit through the sermon and walk home in the rain

Eat a cold dinner and shake off the pain.

Eventually you’ll breathe again,

But you’ll never feel the same.  

It’s a part of you now, a new structure within you,

And it makes you feel overdrawn.

But you’ll grow to surround it and in time,

You’ll see where you went wrong.

Story #10

Standing up, she looked at the table, everything was ready. She took down three of the blue tin plates and was moving towards the table, when she looked over and nearly dropped them. It was the boy standing at the end of the hall, not her Grandfather. He was barefoot, and the bandages on his torso and head had small spots of red on them. He was staring straight ahead, out the front door, holding perfectly still. Veronica straightened carefully, and set the plates down on the table. The small noise turned his head, and they locked eyes. His face was white, and his eyes were wary. She wiped her hands on her jeans, and pulled out a chair, gesturing to it. He walked towards it slowly, in his level smooth stride, and sat down, eyes still on her. Veronica pointed to herself.

“I’m Veronica.” He looked at her, not understanding. She pointed again. “Veronica.” He paused, and nodded slowly. Pointing to himself, he spoke in his deep, strange voice.

“Gi.” They stared into each other’s eyes, not sure what to do next. At last she pointed to the bandages on his head.

“I need to change those.” He looked back at her, and she knew she’d just have to do it and hope he didn’t hit her. She stepped forward and reached forward, his hand shot up and grabbed her wrist. He looked up at her, and she down at him, and she made herself stay calm. She repeated the words as coolly as she could.

“I need to change those, Gi.” At the sound of his name, the boy looked at her in one long glance, and dropped her wrist. She let her breath out, and hoped he wouldn’t notice she was trembling. She unwound the linen and set it on the chair next to her. She examined the wound, and touched it gently with her fingertips, he winced, but didn’t pull away. The bleeding was stopped, and it was scabbed over, but there was bruising around it and the gash wasn’t very small. She turned and put a pot of fresh water on the stove, feeling his eyes on her the whole time. It was eerie how silent he was, and how well his eyes communicated when he couldn’t speak her language. Not for the first time, she observed the strangeness of the situation. On a normal day, she would have gotten up, eaten breakfast with her grandfather, fed the animals and set to work in the garden, and whatever else needed to be done, but things were different today. She turned, and found Gi staring at the food on the table. She didn’t know if Grandfather had fed him before bed, but it was unlikely. She silently filled a glass with water and set it before him. He looked at it, half suspiciously and half with curiosity. She pulled up a chair in front of him and sat down. He looked at her, and then picked up the glass and took a drink. He drained the glass. She picked it up and filled it for him again. It was so strange to be moving so quietly. No talking, just looks. She sat back down, and waited for him to finish drinking, and then unwound the bandage around his chest. He looked down, face blank. This whole time, he hadn’t smiled, or spoken at all aside from his name. His body was long, compact, and lean. She wondered what would happen if someone hit him. They would probably be the one to go flying. Veronica’s eyes flicked up to his face, and back to his wounds. She decided it had to be done, and got up. He watched her as she opened the pantry, and took down a bundle of dried herbs and the mortar, and set to work making a poultice. She could never remember the name of the herb, but it was always what they used when she or Grandfather got hurt. There were a lot of things higher on her list of things she wanted to do than rub herbs on a stranger’s chest, but she took the glob on her fingers, and fell to her knees in front of him. He looked startled, but didn’t stop her as she began applying it to various deep cuts on his chest and stomach. She heard him suck in his breath, and winced for him. She knew from experience that it stung in an open wound, but she didn’t look up and meet his eyes. Long years of living on a farm had taught her not to say her apprehensions out loud. Better to approach it cautiously and explain with your actions that you weren’t sure, than to go in confidently and be wrong. Either way it had to be done, and she refused to allow the chance of being wrong to stop her from getting things done. That was how she did most things. Careful thinking, followed by a headlong calculated rush into the flames, and an inward acknowledgement that she very well may be wrong. Her fine red eyebrows curved in concentration. Finally, she finished and stood up. He had been staring hard at the floor against the pain, and she saw his fist clenching the edge of the table, knuckles white. He looked up at her, and she smiled at him. His stone mouth curved into a deep smile that lit up his eyes and his whole hard face softened. She felt herself blushing and turned away quickly before he noticed. Taking the bandages, she turned them to a whiter spot on the strips and reapplied them. She knew they weren’t really clean, but they were better than nothing. He was still clenching the table, and his jaw. His face expressed nothing, but the shimmering green eyes showed his pain.  She finished, and straightened. She avoided his eye as she turned towards the stove, fiddling with something that didn’t need to be fiddled with. Then she heard his voice, slowly, and unsurely, ask,

“Ver-onica?” She looked at him, surprised. He took it for an answer, and gestured towards the food, looking sheepish and questioning. She laughed inwardly. Oh duh, poor guy, of course he needs to eat.  She nodded vigorously and smiled warmly, pointing to the food. He grinned, and nodded thankfully. She felt awkward as he started to eat, and decided not to wait for her Grandfather to get up. Gi was intent on eating, and it was probably safe to leave him here for a few minutes, so she moved quietly towards the door, and closed it behind her. She took a deep breath of the morning air, and grinned to herself. This is really weird. This is REALLY really weird.

.....

Story #9

Veronica woke up the next morning with a stiff neck. She yawned, and looked at the mechanical alarm clock on her night stand. It was seven, which meant she’d gotten approximately six and a half hours of sleep. Despite the exhaustion of the night before, she hadn’t slept for half an hour after she’d gone to bed. She stood up from her creaking bed, and curled her toes painfully on the cold wood floor. She looked down, and sure enough, one foot was swollen. It didn’t look too bad, but it was bruised and purple. She stretched, and rubbed her face with both hands. She sat down in front of her table. It served double purpose as vanity and desk, but during summer when school was out, it was just a vanity. She looked in the mirror, eyes still half closed. Sunlight streamed in the window over her bed and illuminated her wild red hair. Stretching again, she pushed the unruly locks away from her face and leaned on the table, staring herself in the eye. She knew that Grandfather would be stirring soon, and she needed to get downstairs and get breakfast ready, there were chores to be done. But she couldn’t seem to make herself move, she was wondering how the boy was doing. All night she’d had nightmares about the green eyes, and her door rattling in the night. At last she took out her brush and brushed her hair out, and braided it over her shoulder. She pulled off the dingy shorts and tank top she slept in, and put on her jeans and a fresh shirt. This was Tuesday, which meant that laundry day wasn’t for two days. Her room was nice and neat. It had a sloping ceiling, since it was technically in the attic, a low bed, a dresser on one side of the room with a laundry hamper, a vanity and a nightstand, and that was it. The only light after dark was the lamp on the nightstand, but it felt homey and clean. The yellow wallpaper always made it feel light, and she liked it. The rest of the house was shared, but this was the place she could always count on being alone. She took one last look around, and went for the door. It rattled, and she remembered she’d locked it the night before. She unlocked it, stepped into the hall, and closed the door as silently as she could behind her. The other room upstairs was empty like the one the strange boy was staying in, and the door was always kept closed. She didn’t know what happened to her parents, or why she’d been sent to the farm, but her earliest memory was of the first night she’d spent there, when her Grandfather had told her gently which room was hers, and that the other room had belonged to her mother. Oh how scared she’d been that first night, walking by herself with her armload of blankets and sleeping in the strange bed in the strange house, with strange noises. She walked down the now familiar hall, silently in her bare feet, and crept down the creaking wooden steps. These days she’d been trying to pull more of the load for her Grandfather, and not to wake him up in the morning. Still, it seemed like he never slept past seven thirty. It was her job to make breakfast, milk the cow, gather the eggs and feed the horses, unless Grandfather got up first, then he’d feed the horses.

Veronica hauled the milk pail in one hand, and the basket of eggs in the other, and shifted the weight carefully as she opened the front door. She was still as quiet as she could, but ever since the storm last winter when the screen door hadn’t been fastened properly, it made an unnecessary amount of noise when you opened and closed it. The house was still silent, except for the ticking of the clock in the living room. She set the pail and the basket on the smooth rectangular table and started on breakfast. She took down a cast iron pan from the wall, and turned on the stove. The propane caught with a puff, and blue flames licked the black bottom of the pan. She took a spoon of bacon grease from the bean can next to the stove and plopped it into the pan, watching it melt into a snapping, spitting puddle. She took the eggs from the table and cracked six of them into the pan, tossing the brown shells into the bowl on the counter to go to the chickens later. She broke the eggs with a spatula and scrambled them. While they were cooking she put on a pot of coffee and took care of the milk. They did have a small refrigerator, but it was only for the things that were inconvenient to always be fetching from the cellar. Milk, eggs, and some vegetables always stayed in the house, but anything else you had to get from the cellar outside. It served both to keep the food from the garden, the cheese and canned goods fresh, and as a storm shelter during tornado season. She opened the door to the small pantry and looked inside. After scanning the shelves, she pulled out a jar of pickled herrings, and set it on the table. They seldom ate things like that, since they couldn’t be grown and if you wanted more you had to go to town and buy it, but since they had a guest, she decided it was alright to be a little extravagant. She set the eggs on a hot pad on the table, along with the coffee and herring, and sat down to wait. She took an old newspaper out of the burn-bin in the living room and sipped her coffee. The house was silent and peaceful, the sunlight streamed in through the east window, and with the yellow curtains at the windows and the shutters thrown open, it was warm and welcoming. Veronica set down her paper, and leaned forward onto the table, chin on fist, staring out the window. She closed her eyes and loved the feeling of the sun on her face and hair. She heard a door open in the hall, and her head turned.

…..

Song

Story #8

She covered her mouth in horror. She couldn’t be sure, but it appeared that it went down at least a half inch into the flesh, right in the center of his chest. It must have been from the windshield of the cockpit, when the explosion happened. There were numerous other small pieces of glass on his lower torso and chest. She sat there, mind frozen, no idea what to do. All at once, her mind kicked into gear and she stood and ran to the kitchen. She put two pots of water on the stove and cranked the dials to the highest setting. One was for coffee, and one for the wounds. This would take a while, and it wouldn’t do to be nodding off for something like this. She threw open the linen closet, and took out a white sheet. She began to tear it into wide strips, her hands trembling all the while. She took them and walked briskly back to the room. Dumping the bandages on the floor, she took off her boots, and set them aside. She supposed she’d need to get him onto the bed. After several gingerly attempts, she managed to get him onto the rickety mattress. She propped another pillow under his head, and stared down at him. Her heart pounded mercilessly in her chest, and her knees trembled. She needed to get that glass out, as soon as possible. She hurried back to the kitchen, made herself a hasty cup of coffee, and took the other pot into the room with her. Setting it on the end table with a hot pad, she took a hot cloth and began to bathe the wound on his head, and around the shards of glass. Blood was smeared in an orangish hue over most of his torso, and had coagulated around the glass. She carefully took a clean bandage, and took his head in her hands. It lolled helplessly, and her blood throbbed as she wound the linen around the wound. She stood back, examining her work. She felt weak. It always took Grandfather longer than she to unsaddle or feed the animals, but she wished he was here right now. She wanted to wait, and let him do it, but knew there wasn’t time for that. She took a long strip of bandage, and laid it on the bed, ready to be of use. She took the cloth, and cleaned it in the hot water carefully. When it was sanitary, she washed her hands in the basin on the end table, and turned to her patient. She held the cloth in one hand, and the other hovered over the glass. Her pulse was loud in her ears. She closed her eyes, grasped the glass in her fist, and yanked. Blood began to ooze from the wound, and she pressed the cloth onto it. She kept pressure on it, and watched the red spread through the cloth all the way to her palm. She kept the pressure on, praying for it to stop bleeding. At last it did, and she rinsed the cloth.

Her hot water was running out, and she took the pot in her hand, intending to refill it with water. In that instant, the boy awakened with a violent movement, and grabbed her by the wrist. She screamed and jerked back. He held fast to her wrist, and stared into her eyes. She dropped the pot and clawed at his iron fist with her other hand, but he just looked at her. He didn’t hold her painfully tight, just tight enough that she couldn’t leave. At last she stopped struggling, staring with huge blue eyes into his green ones. All she saw was in them were questions, pain, and confusion. He looked around the room, and back to her eyes. She was screaming in her mind. Just let me go, I’m trying to help you! Maybe he saw it in them, or maybe he grew weary, but he released her wrist, and she stumbled backwards, bumping into the doorframe. Vern snatched up the water pot off the floor and fled the room, slamming the door behind her. She leaned against it, heart pounding. She took shaking steps towards the kitchen, and then lifted her head. He still needed to be treated, awake or not, and if she acted scared, nothing would go her way. She made herself stop shaking, took a gulp of her coffee, and refilled the water pot. It was hot in another two minutes, and she went back to the door. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to turn the handle, and step inside. He was sitting up on the edge of the bed, examining his surroundings, and looking down at his chest in confusion. She set the water pot down on the table and stood in front of him, hands on hips. He looked up at her, eyes mellow but ready. She pointed to the bed, and motioned for him to lay back down. He cocked his head at her. Lay down! He looked up, hesitated, and then shrugged and laid back. She took another deep breath, that had worked better than she’d thought it would. He was remarkably aware, considering what he’d been through. He watched her, as she took the cloth and dipped it into the basin. She didn’t want to, but she turned to him and began to wipe away the blood. He kept his eyes on her face. It was almost chilling, the way he watched her every move and didn’t seem to care what she was doing. Once or twice he winced as she wiped especially deep into the wound, but she only caught the movement out of the corner of her eye. She was trying desperately to focus on what she was doing, and not the strange eyes on her face. When the half dozen small wounds were cleaned and the glass removed, she spoke to him.

“Can you sit up?” He looked at her blankly, and she motioned, and repeated the question. He looked at her, slightly confused, but sat up. She smiled and nodded. He hadn’t spoken since he’d woken up, but he looked satisfied that that was what she’d meant. She took the length of bandage, and wound it around his torso. He watched her as she did it, and she felt herself blushing. She had to get uncomfortably close to get all the way around his broad chest. He just looked at her. When she finished, she stepped back and tucked her long unruly hair out of her face. He just stared at her, and she stared back for a moment. She glanced at herself briefly in the mirror, and she was a sight. Her waist length hair was tangled and in her face, she had smudges of his blood on her shirt and up her forearms, there were dark purple circles under her eyes, and smudges of red dirt on her jeans and shirt. She sighed a little, and shook her head. Without looking back at him, she began to pick up the floor. She took his heavy black coat and hung it on the hooks on the door, and finally remembered the satchel hung slung around her shoulder. Somehow it had managed not to get in the way, and she’d completely forgotten it. She took it off, looked at it, and hung it on the hook on top of the coat. She glanced over at him, and found his eyes were fixed on the satchel. She shifted, and picked up the blood stained shirt and both of their boots. She set his next to the table, and opened the door to leave the room, only to run straight into her Grandfather.

“Gosh! Grandfather! You scared me. Did everything go okay?” He nodded silently, bushy brows furrowed, and stepped inside. She turned to watch, boots in hand. Grandfather thrust his hands into his pockets and he and the boy stared at each other for a moment, before Grandfather asked,

“Did you find out why he passed out?” She explained about the glass and the coat.

“I haven’t given him any food or water yet.” She added. Grandfather nodded, and the boy’s eyes slipped to her again.

“I’ll take care of the rest, Vern. You did well. Go to bed.” She nodded, grateful, and moved to close the door, when the boy spoke. She didn’t understand what he said, of course, but her grandfather turned to her and said,

“He says ‘Thank you’”. Vern just stared at him.

“How did you…?”

“Go to sleep, Vern.” She frowned, wanting to repeat the question, but another wave of exhaustion swept over her, and she just turned and closed the door behind her. She plodded upstairs with heavy feet, yawning. When she got up to the door, she heard the door downstairs open, and heard her Grandfather call up,

“Vern? Lock your door tonight.”

…..

Song

Mini Art

My sister recently gave me a miniature book for drawing in, and I've really been enjoying it. It's small enough to fit in my pocket, and super convenient for carrying around and drawing everything.

I apparently like drawing ducks, so I drew a barnyard.

Yeeeah this one's got a weird perspective, and my mom thought her
shoulders were something else....

:D 

Story #7

With the two of them working together, it didn’t take long to get the boy onto an animal and get on their way. She glanced back at his dark form, lolling from side to side with the swaying steps of her Grandfather’s mount. Veronica had so many questions swirling in her mind, and the anxiety for the boy was growing by the minute. By the time they pulled into the barnyard, she was nearly in a state of panic. Grandfather guided Hank up to the porch, and carefully dismounted around the deadweight boy on the back. The horses tossed their heads impatiently, insisting that it wasn’t the time for such things. The weary girl had to agree with them. She dismounted, and threw the reins over the rail. Her legs screamed in protest. She stretched them, and wriggled. Her shoulders hurt, her legs hurt, her head ached, everything hurt. Her grandfather reached up and pulled the boy down, breaking his fall as best he could by pulling him straight onto the porch. Vern felt relieved, it was a few less stairs to pull his massive weight up. She just stood there, looking at him. Grandfather did the same, breathing hard.

“Think you can get him into the downstairs bedroom?” He rasped. Vern felt herself nod, eyes still glued to him. There were two bedrooms downstairs, and two upstairs. One of the ones upstairs was hers, one downstairs was Grandfather’s, the other two were empty. Grandfather took Trolly’s reins, and headed off to the barn with the horses. She watched him leave, wishing he wouldn’t. She just wanted to go upstairs and go to sleep, but she knew there was at least another hour of work to do. It was getting on towards midnight now. She sighed, stretched again, and took him under the arms, wriggling and dragging him towards the door. She reached behind her and opened the doors with her foot. She scooted through as fast as she could, but his legs still got trapped in the screen door. She freed him guiltily, and began down the hall. The house was still, the fire in the kitchen was nearly dead, and the floorboards creaked every now and then as she moved down the hall. Stopping for a moment, she pulled the string from the ceiling, and the hall was flooded with dim yellow light. At last, she kicked the door open, and was greeted with cool musty air. The last time this room had been touched was spring cleaning, three months ago. She drug him in, and turned on the light. The low bed was neatly made with the sheets turned back. Vern groaned and put her hands on her back, leaning and stretching. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and knelt on the floor next to him. His face was colored, but his lips were ashen. She pressed her palm to his forehead. He was burning with fever, and the gash on his temple looked bad. It oozed with pus and had been reopened at some point, there was fresh blood. She wiped it away with furrowed brows. Staring at his troubled face, she just felt lost. Things had been so normal, and then with a single afternoon, her world had been turned upside down. She shook her head, and began to remove his coat. It was thick leather, and probably had had something to do with him passing out. The heat added with dehydration could definitely have done it. She felt his shirt, and it was damp with sweat. She discovered a dark red stain on the chest, that had been covered by the coat until now. She frowned, and began to remove the white shirt. As it came away, Vern gasped. There was a shard of glass, three inches long, embedded sideways in his chest.

.....

Song