A few days ago, she lay without


    a care. The warm summer wind breathed


    outside her window, and the passing seasons


    tinted the leaves from lush greens to


    vibrant orange hues. In the back of her mind,


    she made plans for tomorrow, the next day,


    the next week: all as usual. Downstairs, her


    parents bicker in amicable tones how much


    cinnamon goes in the cookie dough.


    The moon soon blankets the skies in


    a veil of stars. The lamp by her bedside


    flickers a faint gasp. She turns the switch and


    closes her eyes beneath warm blankets


    and the cold breeze of night.


    Red and blue lights, sirens blaring, and


    a deafening silence shatters the morning mist.


    The bickering turns to bitter cries,


    If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.and those two same voices the previous night


    now fought each other with vicious ferocity. One


    packs his bags and runs off. The other crumbles to


    the floor, her legs too weak, unsteady. Mayhaps she


    will never rise again quite the same.


    An empty black bag goes in.


    A full black bag comes out, strapped to a gurney.


    The black cloth resembles a trash bag.


    Church bells ring, the warm breath of summer


    now faded. Only one voice stands alone among


    the others. Now, there was but stone and


    disturbed earth. God sent no signs. She noticed


    no symptoms. The Devil sent no soldiers. She


    closed her eyes, expecting, with plans for tomorrow


    still swirling inside.


    Now, by the open window, where the warm colors


    no longer scatter through glass thickened by


    silence, there sits an empty bed with vacant, cold sheets.


    A memory of where something once


    used to be.


    Abrupt. Sudden. Without a thought. Without conscience.


    Random. Empty. Void of reason. Void of meaning.