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 ^{(it's beta!)}

It was the day Clare left; late Sunday evening. I had stolen a bottle of beer from Garrett's “secret” stash in the basement, with a thirst of too many cigarettes in my mouth.

The house was deserted and submerged in a darkness that made it look as if electric wiring had yet to happen, a dream of tonight's future. Not a whisper around but for the dying traffic through the window left open.

I moved as the ghosts around me, making not a sound, out of fear that this fragile fabric would unravel before my very eyes. And when I came back into my room, I felt something I had never felt before, and therefore I cannot describe this feeling.