Story I'm working on (called "Watch") Chapter 1 and 2

[greenfireguy.livejournal.com]

I'm working on this story.  I'm not sure how good it is, so I wanted to see how other people liked it.  Please feel free to criticize, comment, provide suggestions and just generally let me know what you think.  Thanks.

 

 

Preface

 

Standing there alone in that deserted town made me realize something, something that had been completely obvious from the very beginning. The golden hue seemed to glow brighter than usual as I thought it over. Yes, I had to be right, it was the only possible answer. For the first time since moving to Groveland, miserable Groveland, I smiled. I knew who killed Zamboni Balackster. It dawned on me I could finally get out of this nightmare and never return. I smiled a second time, giving myself a mental pat on the back, and then time collapsed. I was no longer smiling.

 

The Last Tears

It all started on the day I moved to Groveland, California, a small town with a population of a measly 3,300 and located at the base of the Sierras. Everyone knew everyone, it was the type of town where families stayed on for generations and generations, hiding their secrets until someone like me came and dug them up. You see, I wasn't a particularly nosy guy, but I had a desire to fit in, and that got me in trouble. I always had to prove myself if someone told me to, so I ended up doing stupid things. Like in the third grade when George Hamilton told me to eat a large bucketful of dirt in order to prove that I wasn't a wuss. Of course, I did it, and I regret it to this day.

I had lived in Chicago most of my life, and had liked it there, but circumstances required that I move. I hadn't gotten to say goodbye to any of my friends before I left, and most of my stuff had to be sold. That was probably because my mom had just died in a car crash and my dad had left before I was even known to have existed. That means I had only one set of family members left, my grandparents. Of course, they had to live in the middle of nowhere. I sighed at the prospect of living there and knew I would hate it. I found I was hating more and more things about life these days.

"Is anything wrong, Jason?" Grams asked from the drivers seat. Gramps was working on some community project today, so he couldn’t come pick me up from the Pine Mountain Lake Airport.

"No, not really." Just my entire life had fallen apart and I was finding that the world was a twisted and evil place to live in.

"Alright then," she said with a worried tone, but she didn't question further. If I wasn't in such a miserable mood I might have been grateful. I looked ahead to see how close we were when I noticed a gap on the left side of the road in the leafy foliage that surrounded us. It took a moment to realize that a large building was in the clearing off the side of the road, though it was hardly recognizable as a building. It was completely covered in vines and all other sorts of plants that had slowly taken over with time.

I felt a sudden sympathy for the building, it was like me. It was being torn apart slowly, the vines creeping in and ripping it apart, sort of like how my heart felt right then. I reached for my chest and felt the place where my heart was being torn apart. It felt like a hard lump, the beating barely noticeable over the throbbing pain that seeped through my chest, or maybe they were the same thing?

"What is that place? You know, the one we just passed," I asked Grams as we turned off onto a side road just outside of town.

"Oh, you mean Hotel Gordon. That place has been empty since I was a child. They're planning on tearing it down sometime soon, but then again, they've been planning that for the past twenty years or so, so who knows."

"Mmm." Fitting. We were both being torn down as we spoke, but no one seemed to notice. Grams gave me a worried look as I leaned my head on the side of the window, the bright sun shining down on us. I wished it would just go away, it was too bright for the world. Everything seemed to be too bright.

After a couple of minutes driving down the windy side road, we pulled up the driveway and came to a stop in front of my new home. It was an old two story house from the early 1900's, but it was painted a bright, flawless white which made it seem almost new. The naturally colored mahogany porch wrapped around the entire house, though no chairs made residence there since Grams and Gramps were too busy to ever sit on it. I stepped out of the passenger seat of the old navy blue Ford truck that was identical to the one Gramps drove, except Gramps was a bright red. I got my one large suitcase and my backpack out of the back of the truck and headed up the porch, passing Grams on the way.

"You know where you room is, don't you? Of course you do," she jabbered with the same worried expression she had on in the car. I walked into the house, the door unlocked as always, and walked straight up the stairs on the left side of the entryway. When I got to the top I walked past the first door on my left trying not to remember that my mom used to sleep there. Mom wasn't going to be sleeping there anymore. I held back the tears that threatened to overwhelm me at any moment as I walked past the door on my right which led to the bedroom where Grams and Gramps slept and past the small bathroom on my left in the middle of mine and Mom's bedrooms.

Finally I stumbled into the last doorway on the left and shut the door, sliding to the ground, no longer able to hold back the silent tears that soon turned into sobs that wracked my entire body. I hardly noticed that Grams had changed out the comforter on my bed against the far corner from the one that had cars on it to a plain white and emptied out the bookshelf on my right that had held all my favorite children's books or that the lacy curtains on the window that was across from me had been replaced with blinds that now cast a golden light across my face. I didn't even notice the footsteps that came and paused momentarily outside my doorway before leaving.

I didn't notice any of this as I waited for me to die from this pain that seemed to tear apart the very essence of who I was. Slowly, a kind of numbness spread through my body as the sobs came to a stop.

I cry no more, I thought as I drifted into an uneasy sleep.

 

Jen

 

It took me a moment to realize where I was when I first opened my eyes. I groggily stared at the window that cast strips of bright yellow lights across the wooden floors. The brightness seemed to trigger something in my memory. I groaned as I realized what it was. Everything was too bright. The world should be dark and miserable, just like I felt.

I tried to move and then gritted my teeth as my muscles unclamped themselves from the position they were locked in. I slowly got up from the floor where I had slept curled up into a ball. After stretching my muscles out for a few seconds, I looked around my room to notice the changes that had been made.

Other than the blinds, the new comforter, and the empty bookshelf, everything was pretty much the same. The mahogany desk that sat a few feet from my bed, the whitewash walls, the mahogany floorboards that matched the color of the porch, and the waist high dresser to my right with an oval mirror hanging above. I scowled as I grimly remembered when Mom used to comb my hair in front of it before I knew how to. Of course, I had learned how to do that in the last twelve years.

The last time we had been here I had been five, before we moved to Chicago. We moved out here from Vegas to live with Grams and Gramps when Mom found out she was pregnant with me. I scowled again. Too many memories of her shifting through my head. What did I expect, anyways. She was my mom.

I shoved my suitcase to the foot of my bed and threw my backpack down on top of it. I unzipped it and pulled out a handwritten list of things that I would need for school tomorrow. Grams was supposed to take me out today to get it. I still didn't understand why Gramps had to see every teacher personally to get the list of things I would need. As if it wasn't bad enough that I would be the new kid who'd lost his mother, but I had to have grandparents who knew every teacher in town. I scowled again. It was feeling like that would soon become the permanent expression on my face.

I shoved the list in my pocket and looked at myself in the mirror. My normally short, spiky brown hair was greasy, unruly, and hanging in my eyes, as it had already been overdue for a haircut before the crash. I hadn't bothered much with personal hygiene after that. My eyebrows were furrowed into a steep vertical incline as they rested above my cold blue eyes. I had large black pockets underneath my eyes from stress and lack of sleep. My lips looked as if they were twisted in a grimace as they tried to form a frown on my normally smiling face.

My ruffled, black t-shirt gripped my skinny frame and my jeans looked as if they had been thrown in the dirt before I put them on. I sighed. I looked terrible, but it would have to do, I was starved. I hadn't eaten since noon yesterday before I got on my flight here. My stomach growled as I thought of the prospect of food. I wondered if Grams cooked as good as Mom. I scowled again as I thought of her. Why'd she have to die.

I stormed down the stairs, did and about face, walked the three steps to the kitchen, and passed easily under the frame that would provide trouble for anyone above 5'10". Good thing I was 5'8". I was instantly buffeted by the fumes of bacon as my stomach growled again louder than before.

"Good timing, breakfast is almost ready," Grams said as I took a seat at the small, round, oak table that took up the center of the kitchen space.

"Smells good. I'm starved. Haven't eaten since I got on the plane yesterday. Sorry I skipped dinner." Truth was, I wasn't sorry. In fact, I wished I could just disappear of the face of the Earth so maybe I wouldn't have to constantly be reminded that I was being torn apart. There were reminders everywhere of Mom. It wasn't so bad when I was distracted, then I could pretend that everything was normal, but being in an entirely new place just reminded me every second that things weren't normal. I wasn't in Chicago. I wasn't with my friends. Mom wasn't alive. Life sucked.

"I made bacon and blueberry pancakes. I hope you don't mind the blueberries," Grams said as she brought over the food and two extra plates with forks and knives.

"No, I don't mind blueberries." Much. Only when they don't remind me of my dead mother who used to cook them on Saturdays whenever we had fresh blueberries. "Where's Gramps?"

"Please, if you're going to be living here, call him Henry and you can call me Annie. He's out helping Ray Stroming with his tractor. It broke down again." I nodded as I served myself the three largest pancakes and at least ten pieces of bacon. "Do you want some orange juice?"

"Yea, that would be great," I tried to say with enthusiasm, but I wasn’t really in the mood. Mom liked orange juice. "Got any syrup?"

"Right here," she said as she carried over a bottle of Maple Syrup and two glasses of orange juice.

"Thanks." I smothered my pancakes and bacon with syrup before digging in. After I had finished my seventh pancake and twenty-second piece of bacon I looked around at the white painted kitchen. It was the largest room in the house, taking up the entire back half of the first floor. The hallway was behind me and the screen door leading onto the porch was in front of me. Grams sat to my right. There was counters along the entire perimeter of the kitchen, only broken by an oven and the two exits. Cupboards were only present on the left half of the kitchen, the side with the oven. The right side held the microwave, toaster, and an old television which I wondered if it even worked. The countertop was granite and all the wood was mahogany, like everything else the house was made of. The granite was new though, it had been mahogany before.

"You should go get cleaned up, you look terrible. After that we can go out shopping for your school supplies," Grams said as she cleaned up.

"I don't need to get cleaned up. Really, I'm fine," I lied.

"Although I may be old, I'm not blind, and I'm not stupid. You need a shower. If you're living in this house, you're staying clean," she snapped. I scowled. It wasn't that I didn't want to take a shower, it was just that if I did, I would have time to think of Mom. Thinking of Mom was bad. Mom meant pain.

"Alright," I sighed before scraping my chair back and climbing up the stairs in a similar manner to the way I came down. I went to my room and opened up my suitcase to find my toiletries when I noticed the picture frame sitting at the top of all my possessions. It was a picture of me and Mom in a park when I was a kid. She looked so happy as her long brown hair flowed down her shoulders and a smile took up her face. Her brown eyes were so happy. I threw the picture behind me and listened to it shatter as it hit the wall. Shatter just like my heart.

I threw my clothes to the side and found my toiletries not far down and grabbed them as fast as I could before I stormed out, my shoes crunching as I stepped on the glass.

"Is everything all right? I thought I heard something break?" Grams asked as I turned left and went to the bathroom at the end of the hallway on the right.

"Everything's fine!" I yelled as I slammed the door behind me. Why the hell did a house need two bathrooms within twenty feet of each other anyways. I threw off my clothes and jumped in the shower, putting it as cold as it would go. Bad idea. The same thought kept running through my head, the cold water seeming to make my concentration slip so I couldn't find another thought to fill my head.

Why did she have to die? Why now? Why not before I met her, before I could remember her? Why couldn't I have died instead? Why, why, why?

I rushed through my shower and dried off with the set of clean towels that rested on the toilet before I realized I had forgotten to grab some clean clothes in my hurry. I sighed. I threw on my pants and brushed my teeth before I picked up my shirt, socks, and tennis shoes and exited the bathroom.

I opened the door to my room, ready to step over the glass, but found that all the glass was cleaned up already and the picture frame nowhere in sight. I quickly closed the door and changed into clean clothes. I debated on whether or not to comb my hair but figured I'd get a haircut when we went out. It was then that I noticed the picture frame on my dresser. I hadn't noticed it at first because it was mahogany, and blended into the desk. I picked it up to find the picture that I had just smashed against the wall was sitting nice and neat inside a brand new frame. I smiled.

Grams had replaced the frame with one of Gramps homemade ones. Gramps liked to carve wood in his spare time. Strangely enough I didn't feel sad at the sight of it. I knew I would never see this face again, and I knew that my heart was having a hole burned into it, but I couldn't help but smile at Grams. She was acting exactly like Mom. I frowned. That realization made me realize that living here was going to be worse than I had expected.

I set the picture facedown on my desk and pulled the list out of the pocket of my jeans that were on the floor. I pulled on a pair of socks and put on my dirty tennis shoes and looked at myself in the mirror. I now had on an identical navy blue t-shirt to the one I had just been wearing and my jeans were now clean. Other than that I looked exactly the same. I broke away from the image that seemed so different than the person I was, or more the person I used to be, and walked down the stairs to find Grams sitting in the kitchen reading a newspaper.

I could tell it was just an act by the way her eyes seemed to read the same line over and over again and the way she sat perfectly still, stiff even for a stone. I didn't mean to make her worry, but it was hard to even pretend I wasn't miserable. I thought back to my grisly image in the mirror and realized what everyone must be thinking when they saw me.

Oh, look at that poor kid, he just lost his mother. He looks terrible, he must feel terrible. Especially since he's the one that killed her.

Killed her? Where did that come from. Oh, right, I had been the one driving Mom's car when we got in the accident. Why was I just remembering this now? I thought over the grim idea that I had killed her. Maybe this was why it was so hard, since I had been the one to kill her, it made it double hard to accept that she was gone? I tried to remember into the haze that clouded the memories of the past few weeks.

I remembered the car accident. I was driving, Mom was in the passenger seat. We were stopped at a light, and it turned green. I went, and then heard a horn blare. I looked at Mom, past her long brown hair, and at the car speeding towards us.

So I hadn't killed her. Then all this pain wasn't guilt. I wondered why I didn't feel the burning sensation that had seemed to be the center of my existence until moments ago. I realized then that I wasn't really feeling anything. I wasn't sad, angry, depressed, in pain, or any other emotion that would go along with losing your mother. I didn't feel anything. With this grim realization I took the final step into the kitchen to approach Grams.

"Hey Grams, ready to go." I vaguely realized my voice sounded dead, monotonous. Was this the way I had sounded the entire time?

"Alright, let me just get my purse." Her voice sounded guarded as she said it. I watched her walk past me and turn right into the den. Even the way she walked was guarded, as if she was wary of me. Of course she was wary, she didn't want to make this any harder than it had to be. Of course, she couldn't help that, everything she did reminded me of Mom. I felt a slight twinge in my chest and twitched before it disappeared. So I could feel something.

Grams emerged from the den, distracting me from my thoughts and I followed her out the door. I noticed that she was almost four inches shorter than me. I never remembered her being this short. Then again, the last time I saw her I was eleven. As I followed Grams I realized something was off. It took me a second to realize that we were both headed for the passenger side.

"Grams, what are you doing? Aren't you driving?" She paused a moment before answering.

"I told you to call me Annie while you live here, and actually, I was going to let you drive. Henry and I get along quite well with one car, so we were planning on giving this one to you since we won't be available to give you a ride into school every morning." I felt the sharp twinge that seemed to be twisting a small portion of my heart into a contorted mess and I grimaced. "Of course, I could always drive today if you wanted," she hurriedly started.

"No, no, I'll drive. It's fine, really," I panted in response. Who knew that emotional pain could leave you gasping for breath. The pain started to ebb as I grabbed the keys from Grams and jumped in the drivers seat. I adjusted the mirrors quickly and backed out of the driveway faster than I should have. I headed back down the road that we came up yesterday that led towards town.

My knuckles were white as they gripped the steering wheel. I kept expecting a car to come out of nowhere and hit us. Before I knew it, we were on the highway heading into town.

"Where to?" my voice cracked as we approached the first light. It was red. I started to sweat as I anxiously waited for it to change to green. Would a car come out of nowhere, just like with Mom? I took a deep breath trying to calm myself. I caught Grams face in the mirror, a look of worry over her face. The light changed green. I slowly pushed down on the gas and eased it up to twenty.

We crossed the intersection with no problems. No crash. No mysterious car. No death. It seemed almost boring.

"Where to…Annie? Unless you want me to drive in circles?" I joked lightly, even managing to break a smile at how worried I was. There wasn't even any other cars on the road.

"Ummm, take a left at the next intersection," she said, snapping to attention. The rest of the day was spent shopping in a weird mix of awkward conversations with Grams, furtive side glances, and the occasional tense moments when I got behind the wheel. While Grams and I caught up on all the things that had happened in the past six years, carefully avoiding any direct mention of Mom, I noticed all the stares I was receiving from the people around us.

Apparently everyone knew who I was, and no one wanted to talk to me because of it. I felt like some sort of freak show. Every time we went up to the cashier, the person would avoid looking at me, as if they would burst into flames if they did, while making casual conversation with Grams.

Under normal circumstances I would have laughed at the prospect of a cashier bursting into flames, but these weren't normal circumstances. I slowly got angrier and angrier as the day progressed that by the time we were at the final store, picking up a pair of shears for Grams, that I was ready to hit the next person that looked at me.

I hadn't even been talking to Grams for the last few stores, resorting to simple nods every time she asked a question. After we found the shears in the fairly empty hardware store we headed for the exit. As we stepped up to the cashier, I gave them an angry glare as they greeted Grams casually. My hands were balled into fists as I held them at my side. Why wouldn't they just look at me? It wasn't like I had a third eye or something. I had only lost my mother, no big deal. It happened all the time.

A sharp stabbing sensation went through my chest as I thought that and I winced. Just thinking that made it seem as if something like this was normal and that it should be no big deal.

Grams finally said goodbye to the cashier, whose name was Terry, and I turned to walk briskly out the door. I looked down as I pulled the keys out of my pocket when my right shoulder suddenly wheeled backwards, throwing me off balance, as someone hit it. I turned and was about to scream at them, maybe throwing a punch at the jerk who had just run me over and not even stopped to say sorry, and found myself face to face with the culprit.

I stared blankly at the girls face in front of me. The first thing I noticed was how she wore all black, with matching dyed hair pulled into a tight ponytail. Her fingernails were painted black as well. She had two metallic silver rings sticking out of her right eyebrow, four on the top of her right ear and six out of the left. She had on black eyeliner around her silvery eyes. It wasn't a lot, like I expected, but enough to notice. Surprisingly enough, her lips were black as well.

I was mesmerized by her face as she stared back at me with a confused expression. As it was, her face looked fairly normal, but I tried to imagine it without the makeup and decided it would be fairly pretty. I also tired to imagine what her hairs real color was. I also happened to notice she had an athletic body under her t-shirt and black jeans.

"Hey, aren't you mad?" she asked, jerking me back to reality.

"What?" I asked dumbly, so distracted by her odd appearance.

"I just ran into you. Shouldn't you be mad or something?"

"Oh, that. Ummm, it's really no problem. I wasn't looking anyways, I should be more careful." She gave me an odd look, raising the eyebrow with the two rings protruding.

"Riiight. Anyways, it's nice to meet you. You must be Jason, the new kid. Everyone's been talking about you. It's getting kind of old if you ask me, you don't seem all that special." I was sure my jaw dropped right then. I had just come to believe everyone in this town was avoiding me like the plague and here was this strange girl dressed in black talking to me as if we had been longtime friends. It took me a moment to get my thoughts together as I tried to come up with a response. She was giving me a weird look again.

"Uh, yea, that's me." Lame response. She rolled her eyes at me. I had the distinct feeling she thought I was some sort of new toy that didn't work the way it was supposed to.

"Well, I'm Jennifer for your information, thanks for asking. You can call me Jen though, everyone does." She waited a moment as I continued to stare at her suspiciously. She rolled her eyes again and turned to Grams. "How's it going Annie? I see you got those new shears you wanted. Hope they work out for you."

"Thanks, Jen. I really appreciate the help you gave us last week at the annual picnic. We had a bigger turnout than last year so we were running low on staff, we needed all the extra hands we could get." What the hell? Who was this girl? Did literally everyone know everyone in this town?

"So, is he living with you now?" Jen asked, jerking her thumb in my direction. It took a moment to realize she was referring to me.

"Yes 'he' is living with her now, and 'he'd' also like to mention that it's none of your business," I cut in sharply. I had just gone from curious to annoyed. What was with this girl? Why couldn't she be like everyone else and just ignore me? She didn't have to pry into my living situation.

"Well, actually, it is my business. You're in my advance Calc class and Annie tells me that you're really good at it, according to the letters your mom sends every month anyways, and I was hoping you could help me out." My jaw locked as I formed my hand into a fist.

"Not that I'd help you," I seethed. "Annie, let's go." I turned and started walking towards the truck, not even looking back to see the exchange that took place between Grams and Jen. I jerked the car door open and turned the key with too much force, the ignition jumping to life. Grams quietly got into the passenger seat and I drove off before she could get her seatbelt on. As we drove off I caught Jen waving at us. I gently pushed my foot down on the gas, going fifty as I ran a red light in a twenty mile per hour zone.

The drive back was a silent blur as the trees sped by too fast. When we got back I hurriedly helped Grams unload the back of the truck and threw all our stuff down in the hallway. A brief reminder ran through my head that I still needed a haircut, but I hardly paid attention to that. I ran up the stairs and slammed my door, locking it behind me. I leaned against the door and slid to the ground.

Why had I let her get to me like that? Would I go into some berserk rage every time someone mentioned Mom? I fumed in that position for a few minutes before I heard the soft purr of Gramps truck. He always kept his stuff in perfect condition. The car door slammed and then moments later, the front door. I gave them a few minutes before I heaved a sigh and got up from my position. I couldn’t just sit here all afternoon. I glanced a look at the clock on my desk and saw that it was almost seven. The sunlight would fade soon. It was the middle of September already.

I had missed the first three weeks of school while I holed myself up back in Chicago. I thought back on that time and winced as I sifted through the blurry memories. At the hospital when I woke up and was told that my mom was dead. How I had cried all through the funeral. Grams and Gramps weren't there, they didn't find out about her death until the day after. What asshole made that decision?

I moved on to the meetings with a lawyer that told me I was going to move in with my grandparents as my only living relatives and how he assured me that my mothers life insurance, the sold house, and the money I would win from the lawsuit would be enough to get me through college. I remembered hating him. He only cared about the money.

Then there were the weeks following in which I hardly stopped crying, ignoring all the phone calls and visits to my house before they sold it all. Then having to pack and fly out here. I didn't cry now. I could almost feel myself becoming numb. The pain kept leaking through, the sharp stabs to my heart as I tried to dull the pain. The only thing I could really feel now was anger.

I felt so…empty. Now that I wasn't angry and had nothing to do, it made me realize that I was barely even alive right now. I frowned. I could feel the anger rising inside me. I was angry with myself for taking this so hard, for being the cry baby and for being angry about it.

I slammed my fist against the door and exhaled slowly. I didn't want to be angry, but it was so easy to be angry. I could just blame others for causing me all this pain, but that wasn't the truth. It couldn't be helped, this was just going to take time, or so they say. What's the saying, All things heal with time, or something like that.

It didn't feel that way. It felt as if I would be as empty now as I was forever if only it stopped the pain that wracked my heart. I was tired of thinking about it.

I pulled the door open and rushed down the stairs. I heard the voices in the kitchen come to a halt, but I didn't particularly care. I walked through the doorway and found Grams and Gramps sitting at the table looking at me worriedly. After standing there for a moment with no sign of change I took the initiative to start the conversation.

"Hey Gramps, long time no see," I said with absolutely no enthusiasm. Gramps just stared back with his worried blue eyes. They were so calm resting in the middle of his wrinkled face. It felt like they were boring into my mind trying to find all my secrets and rip them out.

"Hey there, kiddo. You can call me Henry in this house. Sorry I wasn't here when you got in yesterday, had to help James Parker set up the field for this years corn cannon contest." When did they start a corn cannon competition? "I believe you met his daughter today, Jen," he added slower, more carefully.

"Oh, yeah. Interesting person. Has a lot of piercings." And she seemed to know exactly how to make me want to hit something, most likely her, girl or not.

"Yea, she does dress a bit weird, but she's a nice gal," he added in a more casual tone.

"Suppose so, didn't really get to talk with her all that long." Probably because I was about to run her over with my truck. The silence started to stretch on as they waited for me to say more, or to break out in an impossible rage.

"I should start dinner, before it gets too late," Grams cut in tactfully.

"Here, let me help you. I'm a pretty good chef," I added. Anything to keep my mind busy. Truth was, I was a good cook. I had to make most of the food in Chicago because Mom was always working and she was always too tired to make anything. I tried to think of Mom when she just got back from work, exhausted and dragging her feet, and…I couldn't see her face. I couldn't remember her voice, or the way she moved, or how she looked. It was as if my memory had just erased her from my mind.

What have I done.

I spent the rest of the afternoon preparing grilled chicken with steamed vegetables and yellow rice. I hardly noticed what I was doing as I seasoned the chicken and then proceeded to take it out to grill which Gramps had already started. I handed them off and continued to the vegetables. An hour and a half later I was finishing the dishes and heading upstairs to sleep.

I brushed my teeth and threw my shirt to the ground as I fell on the bed. I noticed the picture frame sitting on the desk and picked it up to look at the two people on it. The faces didn't mean anything, they were just two people in a park. I set it facedown again and lay my head down.