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Also writing under the name S.E. Holz
The girl that drowned.
She's "the girl that drowned". I am flipping through an old photo album, which is odd, because no one really has them any more. But I found one I made when I was a child. My own daughter had found it, and had been adding some of her photos to it. I picked it up and idly flicked through it... and suddenly there she is.
Long ago, before my grandmother was born, people's lives were short and often sad. People could live their whole lives never meeting their soulmate. The world was too big, there was too much to do, and too few years. People married young, when they hadn't travelled the globe even once.
Ch5: Frog Wellies
Chapter Five: Frog Wellies It is a slightly sad sight. She is the only child left. She is sitting on the bottom stair of the old rambling Georgian house, already bundled up in a warm coat with the hood up. Attached to its sleeves there are matching mittens hobbling her hands, and her cheap looking green and white wellies are decorated with cartoonish frogs. All the lights are off, blinds pulled down, chairs put up on tables. The staff are extremely ready to go home for the day. They all have their coats on, too.
Ch4: Careful What I Wish For
Miles was mad about the TV when he got home. I had hoped he wouldn't notice until after I was gone (I am unscrupulous, apparently,) but no such luck. The air had been thick with his cursing, which didn't bother me as much as it probably should have. I let guilt slide off my face and leave it blankly innocent. I had tried to switch it on earlier, I say, all wide eyes and ignorance. It didn't work then either. Well, that's not exactly a lie.
Sleep is for the Weak
I lay there in his stinking bed, wishing I could wash being dead off me and wondering where I lived. I could hear him running the shower, and for a long minute I ached to be the one standing under it and scrubbing away all traces of the morgue and these itchy, reeking sheets. I almost moved to go and say something to him, but I didn't want to have to fumble through another conversation, and I didn't want to be naked in his flat while he was here either.
A New Home
Footsteps echo loudly in naked hallways, don’t they? Without carpet or furnishings to cushion the noise, it feels intrusive and loud, like hooves in a temple. Half of me savours the sassiness of the sound and the other half wants to slip my shoes off, tiptoe, whisper.