A.O.A. (An Official Apology)

On behalf of myself (P. Meggy) and my blogmate/conartisty assistant/friend/co-conspirator/good friend/accomplice*/best friend** (Cat Cooper), I formally apologize. I apologize for neither of us ever writing our stories,*** I know that it has been rather annoying for our friends****/readers we know personally, let alone our readers in Canada.***** But, we do have reasonably legitimate excuses.****** I will now formally explain to you the art of NaNoWriMo. NaNoWriMo is short for National Novel Writing Month, which is November! So, Cat and I decided (as the plot bunny twins) to try and write a novel together. (there's a whole network for this thing, you know.) So, I apologize for our being so extremely preoccupied, and I also warn you of next month.******* You probably won't be very pleased with our distraction, but we hope you will deal.******** Our posting will be erratic*********, and I apologize ahead of time (we will try to keep you updated on our progress, however). Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you were forewarned.
~P. Megz OUT!!!**********
*Nothing can be legally proven...
**one of many :)
***I have a weak immune system, apparently, and I don't know if Cat's just having revenge or what, and I stress easily...and stuff was going on and now I'm rambling, so I'll shut up and go on to the next footnote.
****I reiterate #2 (**)
*****As well as those in Brazil, the Netherlands, Thailand, etc.
******stress on the 'reasonably'
*******which is in like four days
********more erratic than usual, I mean
*********I figured these were getting annoying. :) And this one is ten asterisks long, so it made it even. :D The footnotes are almost as long as the original post (I really need to figure out a better system of footnotes...)

I'm AWAKE and I'm ALIVE

I have returned to the land of the living!!! (that's !^3)
It's funny to me that this subject is song lyrics, but is also applies to the main topic of the post! :D
Does anyone else enjoy that? Or is it just me?

hydfdedfffd3ded4d4dfhahahahahahahahahahahahhaahahahhahaha i spite youhaha me to:)))bllaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa filling up space    i love micah and sarah:)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))
That was the work of my resident voices (also known as Sarah and Micah) pestering me while I try to type.
Ah, by the way, I've so many things to say...that I have nothing.
So, yes I was busy for so long being a misanthrope for various reasons. The first is that I had chicken pox.
Yes, chicken pox.
It's like being bitten by a mosquito on steroids. I became very acquainted with my living room couch, as well as many movies, books, and Criminal Minds episodes. (for example, one day, the only thing I did was watch just a LOT of the 100000000000000000 episodes we have recorded)
The second, was that I just didn't want human contact. I honest to goodness could not socialize with organic life.
Sooooooooo.....
Sorry for disappointing you with no story in a child's point of view. Apparently, along with misanthropy, there's also writer's block.
TOUCHÉ plot bunnies....touché...
You know, Cat, I disagree with your last post. And I agree with it. I want to live in the middle of nowhere, with lots of space and trees and (maybe) animals. I wouldn't want any neighbors within a certain amount of area. I want a freakishly long driveway to drive down before I get to my house.
Or
I would want an apartment. In a big city, like you, Cat, with absolutely /no/ space, but somewhere with sidewalks and fun stuff like that. A subway or something. 
I don't like this in between we call 'suburbia'
Here, have some MLIA.
(Note: this didn't happen to me, but I did enjoy reading it on mylifeisaverage)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Last year at school we had a sub. He was Irish. Today, I had him again. He was Australian. I'm confused. MLIA


Today, my friend (who looks a lot like Justin Bieber) came up to me and started complaining that random people keep throwing water bottles at him. MLIA


Today, I saw a cow chase its own tail. I'm still laughing. MLIA


Today, my brother and I overheard our parents describing pickles as cucumber zombies. We ruled that this is awesome. MLIA.


Today, I was laughing while reading MLIA. I noticed one of my dogs staring at me weird, so I stared back at it. It started jumping and moving around and growling oddly, I was very confused... until I noticed my second dog stealing my donut while I was distracted. Both dogs then ran down the hall and shared it. Scheming scamps... MLIA.


Today, I was shaking a bottle of chocolate milk. I forgot that I had already taken off the cap. MLIA


Today I clicked average on someone's story, making the total number of averages 1111. I made a wish. I really want it to come true since I sort of want that bacon right now. MLIA
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So, world, I have officially returned.
WITH A CHALLENGE FOR CAT! (I don't know who's turn it is, but we might as well start again, and I had the challenge last time, ((even if I didn't write it)) so logically, it should be Cat's turn.) I'll find some older short stories for you to read/enjoy/laugh at to make up for missing it.
ARE YOU READY?
Cat, your challenge, (even though it is very late I'm sorry:(...)
is to write a story inspired by...
the poem "Derelict" by Young E. Allison
Always wanted a good pirate story from you :P (plus, there's dead people...and it's october...)
Fifteen men on a dead man's chest, yo ho ho and a bottle of rum...
~P. Megz OUT!!!

Back in the Saddle Again....

Why of course i am not riding a horse!!  I am simply referring to the fact that i have not posted in at least 3.574645364326426436 eternities.  I was stuck in a cabin in the middle of nowhere.  But the middle of nowhere actually has great cell service.  

It was kinda funny really.  Most of the "cities" had about the same population as my high school.  Weird right??  Small town USA is a community i will never join, fo shizzle.  

It's funny.  Me and my girly friends who arent P Meggy the Missing and i often talk about what we would like from our future.  They're all lik "I wanna live in a small town with a farmer for my husband!!" and i'm just lik "Big city.  Maybe a guy who knows a thing or two about music.  Or everything about music.  No farmers tan, please's and thank you's."

Watch.  In ten years, I'll be helping my hubby grow potatoes and they'll be living in New York City.  We will both be jealous.  

P Meggy the Misanthropist has certainly lived up to her title.  She hasnt killed your mother (that i know of) or worn a Tshirt that says "I hate people in general" but has most definitely neglected human contact whenever possible.  She will be blogging soon though....maybe.  

Which would mean that you could soon escape my slightly emo and probably depressing poetry, which you will soon encounter.  I realized while rereading The Bad Beginning by Lemony Snicket that, not only do my classmates often spell beginning as beggining, which sounds rather painful, my poetry is alot lik the Series of Unfortunate Events.  Probably predictable, definitely awkward, filled with strange words, maybe cliche, but hopefully not hilarious.  Poetry is basically me bearing my soul to the world.  And the internets.  

So here goes more poetry.  As usual.  Try not to cry.  Wink wink, giggle giggle.

Insanity and Insecurity

I can't stand playing second fiddle
But it's all, all too easy
When you're so used to stepping back
Pretending to be content with the harmony


It's probably sick and twisted, how happy I am for them
Through my seemingly perpetual bitterness
How I'm used to being left,
Alone, forsaken, and loveless


When up comes down, I'm sure I'm considered insane
When it's found I'm insecure
So many call me gorgeous
But is that worth anything if it's all I'm wanted for?


This rhyme scheme's messed up, my poetry's not that great
But does that matter if this is all I want to say?


This is just therapy....CatCooper<3

Do you feel lik a man when you push her around??

Gosh, I love that song.  It's so true and uber sad while remaining at least an 8 on the scale of air-guitar-a-bility.  Plus its beyond beast.  

Did you know that uber actually means beyond?? In German, that is.  Plus it has the uber awsom little dots above the u.  Beast, right??

Well, you guessed it.  P Meggy is still MIA.  We are only communicating through email.  It's actually kinda sad.  

So you're stuck with me until she overcomes her peladophobia and phengophobia.  That's right.  Fear of bald people and fear of sunlight.  They've been afflicting her for nearly three days and neither of us are sure if she'll surmount them.  

So you do know what this means, right??  Why, yes!!  Two bowls of Raisin Nut Bran, pumpkin spice muffins, and orange juice with a twist of pineapple!! Oohh yeah....and poetry.  


So here's a song I wrote about a year and a half ago.  As P Meggy pointed out, yes, it does share the title with an Avril Lavigne song.  Thank you.  

When You're Gone

When you're gone, don't forget me
When you're away, remember the times we've had
There will never be another you 
And if there was, I couldn't stand the wait


When you're done, think of me
When you're away, call me often
I'm sorry for my abandonment anxiety
But I'm just waiting for you to run


When you're gone, pray for my sanity
When you're away, pray for a safe return
If I lost you, I'd lose so much
Every single bit of you I need


When you're gone, I hope to meet you in heaven
When you're away, I hope things can change
I hope God rests heavy on your heart
So He can make you who you were meant to be


That's all for today folks....have a wonderful Wednesday and an awsom alliteration!!


This is just therapy....CatCooper<3

When P Meggy is nowhere to be found, Cat has stories ready....

Of Your Dreams

CatCooper

For what is not the first time in your life, you wish you knew what it was like to be normal.  Unmemorable.  Just another face in the crowd. 

You tire of feeling eyes on you.  Of being treated like a piece of meat.  Of being something to salivate over until a better option presents herself. 

You know it was laughed about.  Shoved off to the side.  Forgotten.  And that only really makes it worse. 

You didn’t cry, but that doesn’t change the fact that he made you feel worthless.  Guilty.  Stupid.  Weak.  Vulnerable. 

So when your breath’s quickening, when you find yourself in front of this hugely tall athlete, you try to lie, but find you can’t.  You can’t lie to Cameron, a friend you’ve known all your life, but have only recently become close to.  You are, after all, hyperventilating. 

“Don’t lie,” he commands, staring at you with those penetrating eyes.  Something is a little bit…off with Cameron.  Almost like it was with that monster.  “What’s up with you?” 

You sigh, wishing you could dig a hole and bury yourself in the middle of your school’s hallway.  “It’s nothing.”

You want to believe it, and, maybe, he does as well, but you can’t. 

He presses onward.  “You know you can tell me anything.”

It’s not a query, searching for confirmation.  It’s a statement, bold and true. 

You begin to feel queasy as the beans spill themselves.  “There-there was so-some stuff that happened last year.” 

Cameron raises an eyebrow, clearly impatient.  “What kind of stuff?”

You close you eyes tightly.  “There was a g-guy.  He-he made me th-the object of his…attentions.  I mean, it was a sick, sick game.  See how many girls’ butts you could…grab.”  You shudder delicately.  “A sick, sick game.” 

You notice suddenly that you seem invisible to the other students; they carry on their merry way while you stand, breaking down, in the middle of your school’s dingy hall. 

“But it was nothing…more than that?” he asks.  “Right?”

“Uh, yeah.”  The lack of concern in his eyes scares you.  Makes your hands become clammy.  Forces your knees to wobble, just slightly.  Where is your Cameron, with eyes filled with compassion?  Innocence.  Laughter. 

“So you’ll be okay.”

“Yeah.”  You feel yourself begin to shut down, like with all the others you try to tell.  The passive aggressiveness takes over.

Until his face contorts itself into an evil mask, with something terrifying in his eyes.  He laughs derisively, might as well be pointing, too. 

“What?” you exclaim. 

“It’s just funny.”  Cameron wipes tears of mirth from his face.  “You try and seem like this big stronghold, but you just shatter because of what?  A guy?”

You cast your gaze upon the ground, feeling your heart shred into thin, frail pieces.  Tears well up in your eyes for the first time in a long time as his next words confirm the fears you have harbored for many months. 

“You were probably asking for it, weren’t you?” he jeers. 

“No,” you whisper, so softly you can hardly hear yourself. 

“Pathetic.”  He shakes his head in disgust and laughs again. 

You wrap your arms around yourself and try not to flinch as the bell rings, emptying the hall completely of students.  Try and fail. 

“So now what?  Now you’re just going to stand there and cry like a baby about what you’ve brought on yourself?  I don’t have time for this.”  And, with one last look of distain, he walks off, leaving you behind.  Alone.  Forsaken. 

“Cameron!” you yell.  But he doesn't come back.  Or turn around.  Or acknowledge your desperate shriek. 

He opens the door at the end of the hall, and light streams in for a moment.  You drop your backpack and rush to the fast-closing door, realizing how long it’s been since you truly felt warm. 

The door feels so heavy, even though is looked light as a feather when Cameron shoved it open.  You put your full weight upon it, wondering when you got to being so weak. 

The door finally cracks open, swinging on its hinges suddenly, making you fall to the ground.  You feel blood on your hands, but yourself unable to care. 

The light you saw is nearly gone.  Dark clouds are moving in and the sun is setting, both occurring unnaturally quickly. 

Cameron is nowhere to be seen. 

“Cameron!!!” you scream.  No answer.  “Cameron?” you say softly.  “Anybody?” you whisper.  It’s dark as obsidian now. 

A scarily familiar voice, belonging to a monster you can’t seem to escape, speaks as a drop of rain slides down your cheek.  “I’m here.”  The monster snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you close.  A hand caresses your cheek whilst all visibility leaves. 

You jerk awake, finding yourself nestled in the side of a warm body, and jump to he other side of the couch. 

The figure at the other end of the couch holds up his hands in surrender.  You relax immediately, for this is your protector.  Listener.  Boyfriend. 

You awkwardly slide back beside him and whisper, “Sorry.” 

Cameron brushes your apology aside, asking, “Was it the dream again?”

You nod, overjoyed to be beside someone you feel safe near. 

Now, after months and years, you know that, not only did they laugh, they said you blew it out of proportion.  Turned that monster into an unimaginably ferocious beast, with fangs and claws scraping at your skin. 

But they don’t know the fear that overtakes you still.  The guilt.  The insecurity.  The hopelessness. The need to let it all out but the silence required. 

You’ve had to move on from it all, but it’s still there.  At the back of your mind some days, right in front of your eyes on others. 

At this point, you’re just glad to have a man of reality.  Rather than one of your dreams. 

Gosh, I wish i was a Waisian....

That's right.  A Waisian.  White Asian.  I wanna be one real bad.  But I'm just a white kid. 

So this week has been kinda crazy.  My teachers decided to love homework and make puppies cry.  It was indeed my birthday and P Meggy's post made me go AW!! Despite the fact that she called me an ostrich on my birthday....

But it's all okay because P Meggy, the Italian, and I are going to see Wicked!!!! So yaaaaaaaaaaaaay!!

I had "Edge of the World" by Emery stuck in my head today.  It was weird 'cause i had this voice singing "Your eyes are talking, but your lips are standing still.  Open your mouth, tell me how i'm supposed to feel."  Just dont tell my psychiatrist.  

I still wish I was a Waisian.  Sighsigh....

This is just therapy.... Catwishes-she-was-WaisianCooper<3

P.S. I really wish I was a Waisian.  Sigh. 

We have...A SECOND GUEST WRITER!!!

"Consequences" by Sarah! (The Italian)

Jamie knew why she was sitting where she was. She knew what was about to happen, she knew the consequences for what she she had done. Thinking back to that night it seemed so clear, so vivid, like it was only yesterday. 

     The night was cold and crisp, there was a slight breeze, but no moon to illuminate the darkness. Jamie was walking back from picking up her brother, Kyle, at their cousin's house. Kyle was snapping his fingers, it helped him when he got nervous. And he was nervous now, the sounds all around, the swooshing of the trees, the pace of their steps, and the moving of the wind only added to his fears.But holding his sisters hand helped, all the kids at his school would pull over in their cars and laugh at him for holding her hand on their walk home from school. But Kyle didn't care, as long as Jamie held his hand and he could snap, he was satisfied. 

      When they arrived home, Jamie informed her little brother that their parents were sick.

     "do we need to call 911?" he asked.

     Jamie laughed slightly "No sweetie, 911 can't help them. But you can see them tomorrow."

     Accepting this without hesitation, Kyle turned to walk upstairs.

     "Oh, I have a friend coming over coming over so don't worry when you hear the doorbell ring."

     Kyle kissed his sister goodnight and walked to bed. He heard the doorbell ring a few minutes later. Late that night, as dreams enveloped Kyle's mind, he heard two screams, then all was silent. Snapping, he soon fell back to sleep. 

     Jamie was pulled back into the present by the click of a door. 

     "You have to make a statement" said the lawyer 

     "When did this happen?"

     "Ten years, and 167 days ago, exactly"

     "What did you do?" he asked

     "I killed them." she said with no pause.

     "Who did you kill?" he pressed.

     "My mother, my father, and my best friend." she said with a wide smile that spread across her face.

     The lawyer turned and walked out, and they stabbed the needle into her arm.

Before the guest writer....

Because her story is in red, and reminds me of halloween. It fits, I think, because I love the violent/murderous/cliffhanger stories that happen. I'm planning on writing a few before Halloween....


Before her story...


A happy thought.

Happy, Happy Birthday, from all of us to you...we wish it was our birthday, so we could party too! HEY!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY CAT!!!!!
It's your birthday!
I don't even know what to say!
But I made a special blogpost for you anyway!!!!


(There. I tried my hand at poetry. And failed. Epically.)


So I'm trying to make this post supr-awsom (bcaus 'E' is not a lttr)

 <------ LOOK! IT'S CAT

LOOONG STORY THERE...um....

Well, one time, we were on a bus, on a trip, from somewhere far away and (according to some MlIA-er) not recognized as a real city. 

A mutual friend of ours, Walker, (the Italian knows him, too.) was going around and telling everyone in the seats nearby what animal they reminded him of. He would pause, consider it for a moment, and then "YOU'RE A LION!" or something of that nature.

(He asked me what I thought I was. I said I didn't know. Apparently, I'm a chicken.)

Finally, though, he paused at Cat. "Hmmmm...what do you remind me of?"

Someone (I'm not sure who at this point) said "You know, she reminds me of an ostrich!"

Walker's eyes went big, "ME TOO!!!!"

So there...You're an ostrich. :D

Even the plot bunnies honor the day you were born, Cat. :) (How do I know this? They aren't throwing popcorn at me)

Your birthday post has ended up being a mosh-pit of pictures and memories...

Megz (me): HEY!!! I have this totally awesome idea...

Cat! (Cat!): What?

Me: We should start a blog...

Cat!: OHEMGEEEEE!!! That would be so awesome!!!

Me: Yeah! See, we could write a short story every week or something like that...

Cat!: YES!!! It should have an awesome name...

like ESCAPE OF THE PLOT BUNNIES or something...

Me: ESCAPE OF THE EVIL PLOT BUNNIES!!!

That, my friends, occurred two months ago today.

August 5th, 2010!

OMGG!!! YOU'RE ON GOOGLE!!!!!! LOOK!!!!

I wish I knew you
Way back when
Before you were part of my plans
I think that we would have been friends

There's only time to live our lives
And you'll be the one who's by my side
And I can promise you then
You'll always be my best friend

Till the end when we part
I will give you my heart
And I'll promise to love you with all that it is
And I'll promise to be there whenever you need me
Because you'll always be my best friend

You'll always be my best friend 


(There. Some Relient k)


~P. Megz OUT!!!


(P.S. That wasn't meant to rhyme it just happened. I don't think I write poetry /that/ terribly.)
((P.P.S. this took me a long time to come up with, so please, appreciate it!))

Who We Are....

Hey.  It's Cat.  This is just a collection of thoughts that's been hanging heavy on my heart the past couple weeks.  

Who are we??

According to us??

If someone were to ask me, right now, who i am, I'd jus be like, "Well, I'm Cat."

"But who are you Cat??"


Now how do we answer that??


A writer?

A musician? 

A mathlete?


An athlete?


A artist?


A friend? 


A daughter?

A son?

A parent?


While we could all find things we identify with, is it really that great that we see ourselves as this one thing?


How many of you would've answered "A Christian," "A Jesus Freak," "A fisher of men," or a "A Believer."?


I wouldn't've.  Give me a split second to think, and i would answer, "I'm a writer, a poet, a bass player, a blogger, an artist."


Sure if we have time we can all have our Sunday School answers.  


But what about when we don't have time to think?


Now, I'm not saying that you should go up to everyone you meet and be all like, "Hi, I'm Cat, and I'm a Christian.  I was saved when i was eight years old.  My favorite verse is Judges 6...."


No. Don't do that.  


I just want to ask, "Are we putting our identity in who we think we are or who God knows we are?"


I was putting all of who i am in my opinion. Until i went to a Student Life camp this summer.  I realized that, in my mind's eye, i'm not always Cat the Believer.  Sometimes, I'm Cat Whoever I Wanna Be.  


I wanna be Cat, God's Daughter, by the message that i live out.  I can be Cat the Writer, Cat the Bass Player, Cat the Poet, and all the things i am along with that.  

I just wanna be sure i'm Cat, Saved in Christ, first and foremost.  

This is just therapy....CatCooper<3

READER DISCRETION ADVISED: this story may be disturbing for some younger peoples

Of Marble Staircases and Murder

CatCooper

I run my hands over the smooth handrail, slowly ascending the stairs.  I think how fast Halloween is approaching, how fast the anniversary of my finding Art Fellows on this very staircase approached.  Finding him being murdered, that is. 

 

I glance at my hands, shuddering as thought the blood is, quite literally, on them, as it was last year. 

Another party, another day, another caterer could’ve changed everything. 

I could say I remember it like it was yesterday, but that would be a lie.  I recall every detail as though it had only happened five seconds previously.  As though his chilling body is still in front of me, his killer still running from me.

 

“Annie.”  I am snapped out of my reverie by my coworker and closest friend Haley’s voice.  I turn around quickly to face her, knowing I am as pale as the dead.  “Annie, the party starts in thirty minutes.”

“Yeah, uh, I, uh, I-I-I,” I stutter trying to regain some semblance of composure.  “I just need a few more minutes.” 

 

“Alright.”  Her voice is compassionate, as always, and I know she’s trying her best to understand why I would want to spend time at a place I witnessed a murder.  “Just go to the kitchen when you’re done.”  Though I have turned back around, so that I am facing the enormous window at the foot of the stairwell, I sense her hesitation.  Haley doesn't want to leave me alone now.  She wants to kiss the booboos away, make everything all better, like the mother hen she has been since our first job together with Hiltrage Catering Company. 

 

When she does depart and the loud clicks of her heals fade, surrendering the corridor to an eerie silence, I slowly sink onto one of the steps, pressing my face into one of the handrail’s supports, wishing closure would come.

 

I stood with champagne on a tray, distracted by the happy couple I could see from the corner I stood in.  The woman was beautiful, that could be seen despite the peacock mask she wore, a large diamond on her ring finger.  The man, who was obviously her fiancé, grinned as he said something to her and ripped off the feathered mask he wore.  She laughed loudly, and he joined in, wrapping an arm around her waist.

 

I knew it wasn’t me they were laughing at me, but it seemed like they were.  So often, since there was no longer a ring on my finger, but a fading tan line, it felt like the whole of nature was mocking me.  Birds migrated and bears prepared to hibernate, but I was still stuck on an ex-fiancé who’d left me for my own cousin.

 

Too distracted with my brooding to feel the tray being pulled out of my hands, I was surprised to see Haley with the champagne.

 

“You need a break,” she said before I could protest.

 

I nodded and she gave me a small shove, pushing me away from the late-running masquerade Hiltrage was catering.

 

Finding a secluded, but gorgeous stairwell, I let a few tears escape the tight hold I had kept over them all night. I rubbed my ring finger, missing the texture of the rough stone being under my thumb more than a fish out of water misses breathing.

It occurred to me that that’s who I had been in my ex-fiancé’s social circle.  I never had and never would belong in a rich world full of Dolce and trust finds.  I didn’t belong in a palace-like building, on a marble staircase with a huge window holding a perfect view of the crescent moon above.

 

A beautiful staircase filled with the echo of erratic footsteps.

 

I quickly hid in an alcove at the top of the stairs, not wanting to disturb one of the masquerade’s guests. 

 

Despite the mask and drunken gait, I recognized the intruder as being Art Fellows, an elderly but wealthy banker.

 

It was dark enough that I didn’t see the silhouette looming behind him suspiciously until it was far, far too late.  Fellows was given a hard shove, and, maybe because of his advanced age or intoxicated state, did not catch himself.  I could almost hear bones snap and shatter as he tumbled down one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, and twelve steps.  As soon as I saw the blood pool beneath his head, I screamed.

 

I rushed from my place in the shadows, shrieking, “What have you done?  What have you done?” 

 

In a thoughtless panic, the man in black turned to face me for but a second, yet his face, illuminated slightly by the moonlight,  would be forever burned in my mind.  A large, crooked nose, thin lips and a thin face, with distant amber eyes.

 

He dashed out of sight, ignoring my roars, “Coward!!! Just run like a scared little boy!!! Coward!!!”

 

I rushed where Fellows lay and searched for a nonexistent pulse.  Crimson coated my hands, a warmth that made me gag along with it.

 

My phone buzzes loudly, making me flinch. 

A text from Haley reads, “Where r u?? Prty n 10 min!!”

I know she is not worried about me being late, but being lost in the world of darkness this place holds for me.  She is the one I told about the nightmares of remote amber eyes and their owner, of cold, rigid bodies, of shadows swirling around me until I am engulfed, unable to escape.

 

I quickly message back, saying I’d be at the kitchen soon enough.

Over the last year, I’d wondered why I had to be there that night, at that spot.  Why I had to be the one to witness Fellows’ murder.  Why I had to be haunted almost constantly by the man’s slim faces and aloof expression. 

 

Of course, I remind myself that, without me, the carefully planned assault would have deemed an accidental death.  No identification would’ve been made for the killer if it my detailed description hadn’t existed.  Consequently, no one would’ve discovered the connection between the killer and Mrs. Fellows, the supposedly mourning widow.

 

I shake my head; it is just mind-boggling that an insurance pay out could be worth killing for.

 

I stand, willing myself to fall into a dreamless sleep when I get home.  A dreamless sleep without cold, dead hands and men in black.