Well, two, but for all intents and purposes, Aisling was no part of my life.īut friendship with just anyone was not an option for me. It would have been nice to know more than one person in the entirety of the world.
I was grateful to have my sister with me, but I still felt isolated. My personality was naturally cheery, though I had been admittedly somber more and more often over the last few years. This meant that, in general, we were a good pairing. But that was an acquired trait, or so I understood. Marilyn was a red-head and had a spirit to match her hair. Besides, there’s plenty of time to see the more remote parts of the world.” She’s easier to hear that way, and you can get to Her faster. Now when I’m gone, you should stay near the Sea. It’s been, what, eight years now? You should be able to hear Her clearly by this point. “Perfect! Really, Kahlen, that was spot on. “Well… I think She said that it could be in a day or two, that She was still waiting, but to be listening?” I mumbled.
How could I stay down surrounded by such enthusiasm? I sighed and tried to remember the exact wording. “Yes! Now, what did She say?” Marilyn was beaming. This would be why she sought me out now: to pass on wisdom. Not towards my sisters necessarily, but sometimes it had to be done. “I’m perfect.” I smiled brightly, shrugging my shoulders as if I had no reason to ever be sad. Her hands, moist with the same coolness as mine, brushed my forehead. “Are you alright?” Marilyn asked, pausing at my side. I pulled the window shut, and we were truly alone. Marilyn worried for me so I couldn’t let her see me sad. I dabbed under my eyes once again, removing any trace of tears. The sounds of Marilyn’s approaching footsteps drew me from my daydream. Unexpectedly, warm and familiar lips would meet with my hand. Without making the decision, my elbow would bend in time with his, happily following any direction he gave. As he held my hand, I wouldn’t feel the strain of my fingers being pulled wide. He, whoever the faceless man in my head was, would have fingers too large to fit comfortably between mine. The sun would be drawn to my chocolate hair, its gentle curls lifting and falling with my steps. Wiping up the lonely tear, I closed my eyes and imagined it. As they walked, he looked into her eyes, lifted her hand, and kissed her eager fingers. The boy- equally tanned, but far more muscular- held her hand intertwined with his own. No, it would have been because she was all too aware of the way she looked in the eyes of her partner. She was a bronze-skinned beauty, but not necessarily because of her features. Or, rather, than I had been eight years ago. It was a young pair, not much older than me. On the cobbled streets below, a couple walked. How was I to know that out there, in the world I had once truly lived in, something as simple as an afternoon greeting could cause unimaginable devastation?Ī solitary tear traced my cheek as I stared out the second-story window of the house we were borrowing. The same goes for songs and laughter, or the words whispered in the ear of a friend. Or at least not in any way that can give you some sort of satisfaction. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.īecause she’s the kind of girl that songs should be written about, poems should be composed for, and books should be dedicated to.
IUniverse books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting:īecause of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any Web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
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