Sarah Sheppeck

Before We Die

The day seemed too perfect to exist outside of storybooks; sunny and warm, but with a light breeze that came just as one might begin to think it a bit too hot. Pillowy clouds hung low in the sky, and the only sounds to be heard were the occasional birdsong accompanied by the faint strains of an old jazz standard, which wafted on the wind from a neighbor’s garage. A black and gold butterfly fluttered past to rest upon a thorny pink rose bush before flitting toward the azaleas to make room for the bees. Behind the garden was an old house, which lay in an old neighborhood in an even older town. Beige-colored with brown shutters, it was not especially remarkable to look at, but remained charming in its way. Two enormous pine trees stood guard in the front yard, providing just the right amount of shade for the young woman sitting on a rickety wooden swing between them.