Poem: Just A Thought

It’s hard to be who I want to be, The world is against individuality, Even those saying just be you, But the fine print is more like, Be who we want you to be, I can see straight though, No imaginary window, Preventing me from seeing the wind blow, Revealing the reality, Seldom seen insanity, Momentarily depriving creativity and civility, Hatred is a money making publicity, But I plan to sit back and watch it all burn, And only then will the lesson be learned, Only God can save the helpless and scorned.

Poem: Passing Moments Through A Beating Heart

No one can see me through my facade, No one can see through my painted face, They don’t know my wishes to God, They don’t know me when I’m alone, Sitting in this darkness is sometimes comforting, Separated from the world outside leaves me sane, Counting the lost moments while my heart is beating, Still better here than the pain that awaits me, I try to see my reflection but my eyes won’t adjust, Maybe that is better for I might hate what I see, I want to release my misery but there is no one I trust, More moments pass, at least my heart still beats, My mind wonders into a place I call home, Deep inside my imagination lies my favorite illusion, I convince myself that it is better to live alone, Maybe I fear I am right, which is why I dare not prove my hypothesis, Silence is holly to me theses days, I worship it each time I am blessed with its presence, Pain creeps in through the noise in many ways, I try to filter it out but fail in my attempts, Still my heart beats while more moments pass by, My illusion infiltrated by the noise causes more pain, Here comes another night that I will lie awake and cry, Wanting the moments and my beating heart to just go away.

Battlestar Galactica Fanfic: P23

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Battlestar Galactica . No one from Battlestar Galactica or SyFy pays me money to write words about Battlestar Galactica. This fan fiction is not connected in anyway whatsoever to official Battlestar Galactica people. Silence! Everyone had gone. Cheers and hugs were exchanged as they walked out of the quarantine area. Everyone had received a clean bill of health, everyone except her. She hadn’t been tested yet. Why should they rush to discover if she had been infected? She was just a machine to them. Sharon laid her head back on the cold metallic wall of the quarantine area. She’d heard Helo’s confrontation with Dr. Cottle. She’d heard the worry, mixed with panic and anger, echoing through his voice. He’d have to be patient. The humans took top priority as always. Sharon stood up. She slowly began pacing around the room as thoughts of the Base Ship assailed her. They were all dead. Truly dead, with no way to resurrect, it had been a frightening sight to her, to see them like that, sprawled along the ships floor reaching out for help with emptiness in their eyes. The mighty had fallen, they had sub come to the abyss. She tried not to think about death. She’d never feared it before. She knew she could resurrect into a new body if something happened to her. But since she’d turned her back on her people, she’d wondered what would happen if they were too far from the resurrection ship and she couldn’t download? Were the humans right – was she just wiring and software? Or did she have a soul? It was easy to preach about God to Helo when she knew she wouldn’t die, but as they got farther and farther away from the resurrection ship, the strength of her faith had been tested. And as Sharon waited in the cold quarantine area, she felt her faith being pushed to its limit. The humans were immune to whatever killed her people, which could only mean one thing – it was designed for Cylons. Sharon stopped pacing, she could feel the fear building inside her, it didn’t feel like wiring or software, it felt like raw emotions. Her entire body became weak from the idea of dying from some Cylon designed virus. She thought about Helo. The man she’d given up everything for. The love of her life, but does her love of Helo means she had a soul? Whatever inhabited her body, it longed for her husband. She could see his square chin hovering above her, his deep eyes staring at her as he bent to kiss her. She loved him, the scent of him, the feel of him, the taste of him – she was more than wiring and software. A child laughed. Sharon looked around the quarantine area. She swore she’d heard a child laughing. Was it the virus making its way through her body? Was it the first sign of her body being infected? Was she about to die? Again she heard the sound of a child laughing. “Is someone in here?” Sharon asked. She was alone. She knew it before she’d asked, but she hoped someone would answer. She sat back down and ran her hand through her long dark hair. It felt soft to her touch. She imagined her hand being the hand of her lover. She could hear him whispering in her ears that everything would be okay. For a moment, for a glorious moment she felt a sense of calm come over her. And then she felt light kisses on her face. It startled her and somehow comforted her at the same time. Did the others hear the sound of a child laughing, and feel light kisses over their faces as the virus made its way through their bodies? Sharon closed her eyes. She was reading herself to die. Soul or no soul, she would go into oblivion with the thoughts of Helo dancing around in her mind. And the kisses, the kisses felt familiar, even though she’d never felt them before, something about them seemed familiar. “Hera,” Sharon whispered before she felt the kisses over her face again. She began to laugh to herself. She would die, and then she would be with her daughter. The kisses stopped. Sharon jumped to her feet. She looked around the room. The laughter was gone. Nothing was around her except silence. She was just about to call out for Hera when she felt a presence. She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around her thin frame. She felt the light kisses all over her face again. Her hair felt drenched in water. She fell to her knees. She heard the laughter start again, but it turned into a whisper. Over and over again, what sounded like a song was recited. Sharon slowly began repeating the words, “though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: For thou art with me; Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies; Thou annointest my head with oil; My cup runneth over.” “Sharon,” she heard a familiar voice call her name. Sharon looked up; the doctor was standing over her. She slowly stood to her feet. Her hair still felt wet, her body felt weak, but the fear was gone. Her body radiated with resolve. “Your test came back fine. Whatever has infected the others, you seem to be immune to it.” The doctor said with a slight smile. The doctor walked away. The words were still roaming around in Sharon’s head. Everything would be fine. She would fear no evil.

Poem: Do You Remember My Name

Do you remember my name? Do you know my pain Do you even know who I am Let me help: it’s not Rick, David, or Sam Do you remember my name? Oh father what a shame For I am your son More hints then: it’s not Chris, Eric, or Don Do you remember my name? Although it’s been awhile I still look the same Surely you must see you in me Once again: it’s not Stan, Frank, or Lee Do you remember my name? Please tell me you do for I grow ill of this game My heart aches with every moment gone by But okay: it’s not Joe, Bill, or Ty Do you remember my name? You’re not old enough for Alzheimer to be the blame Surely you remember my tears No more hints, just pretend I don’t exist, like you have all these years.

Short Story: A Day in Mania

The day starts like everyday before it, I awake. Well, awake isn’t really correct since I wasn’t actually asleep. I don’t sleep. I can’t remember the last time I’ve slept for more than a few hours. Normally I lay in bed aimlessly staring at the ceiling; or closing my eyes trying to force my mind to clear so the beautiful nothingness can take me. But it never happens. Instead I lay awake waiting for those few moments when I do fade away and enter into the realm of dreams, or should I say the realm of nightmares, where pain and death and fear and loneliness waits for me. I hate sleeping; I hate it when the night comes. I would rather live my life filled with the protection of the sun. But lately even the sun holds it’s own kind of darkness, the kind that lights the way to the emptiness of loneliness, of awaiting disasters lurking in plain view. There is nothing for me in the night or the day, nothing but hopelessness and misery. I step out of bed. The sheet slowly falls to the floor. I step out of it, walking gradually to the bathroom so I can take care of my daily hygiene. I watch the water as it swirls around and drains into the dark whole lying in the center of the sink. My mind drifts for a moment, then comes back as I glare at myself in the mirror – to thin, to tall, to dark, to worthless. I splash water on my face; I watch it as it runs down my cheeks. I pull out my toothbrush and my wash towel. I walk from the bathroom after cleaning it behind me. I walk to the closet to find the least attention-causing outfit I can find. I hate attention. I would rather walk through this world oblivious to those around me. It’s better that way, never to be seen, which means never to be judged. There’s no need for the world to see what I see everyday – nothing at all special. I walk from the room heading to the front door. I walk out, then head down the street to the bus stop, passing my broken down piece of shit car. My brother helped me get the blue Mazda Protégé a few years ago, and since the first day I drove off with it, it has been a money pit. I’ve replaced everything in the car, from the engine itself to every hose under the hood. I almost spit at the car as I walk by it. I make it to the bus stop. I’m wearing my dark blue jeans, a black t-shirt, black shoes, a black jacket, and my dark green hat. It’s hotter than I thought it would be in November, so I take my jacket off as I wait for the bus. 45 minutes pass; no bus. I get ready to head to the house, then see the bus coming up the street. I wait, then get on and sit next to a man talking to himself. The man seems to be having a good conversation about life and death. I try to ignore him as I place my hat over my face, closing my eyes as the bus makes its way to the train station. It’s even hotter when I get off the bus. The sun is out; there isn’t a breeze, just dry heat pounding against my dark clothes. I hate the heat. My body feels tired and ready to sit again as I walk to the bottom platform where the train was suppose to be waiting. I ask a man standing on the side of the wall if the train had come yet – the man wore a too tight Michael Vick jersey, with even tighter pants and black and white Reeboks. His skin is darker than mine, he also has a beard and mustache that has hints of gray in them – the man said no. So I walk to the edge of the platform to wait for the train. Thirty minutes later the train pulls into the station. I get on, sit in the back, pull my hat over my face, and close my eyes trying to ignore the people around me. A few people walk through the train asking for money, while most people talk about what’s going on in their lives. I ignore the conversations, lost in my mind – I need a job and a car and something to do and… I step off the train at my stop. I walk to the top of the platform, then make my way to my old school. I walk into the school heading to the cafeteria. I haven’t eaten all day; my body is weak from the heat and the lack of food. I order a sandwich before I walk to the drink machine. I look up as the coke makes a loud crash falling into the open try. There she is, walking towards me with a smile on her face. Her dark long curly hair pulled back in a type of ball like she normally wears it – I like it better when she wears it down, but she doesn’t like it that way – her beautiful dark eyes seeming pleased to see me, her brown skin looking more perfect than the other girls walking around caked in make up. She has a natural beauty that most people would kill for, yet she seems uncomfortable in her skin at times. And other times she seems to glow from the attention. “Your mother trying to get in touch with you,” she says as she reaches for her phone. I stare at her for a moment – why can’t I just say how I feel – I think as I reach for the phone. She hands it to me, then says something about her minutes but I don’t have to worry about it. I call my mom – more bad news – not like I wasn’t expecting it though. My mind wonders again, I think about her, the ‘natural beauty’. I’ve been thinking about her more and more lately. I know I don’t have chance with her, not on her level – to thin, to dark, to stupid, to ugly, to… to… to… – but I still want her. I make a few more calls, one of them turns out good, wasn’t expecting that, but it doesn’t stop the anxiety building inside of me. I hang up the phone, I give it back to her with a smile; she smiles back. I walk to the table where I placed my food. I eat my food secretly hoping she doesn’t sit beside me. I hate being around her at school. I’m not the only one who thinks she’s beautiful. They stop and talk to her as she sits next to me. They act as if I’m not even there. I guess to them I’m not. I guess to her I’m not either. She sits next to me. She smiles again as she begins eating her salad. We talk. I don’t hear what she says or what I say. I’m to busy dreaming about what I will never have. To busy drifting in fantasies of a life with her that will never be. Tell her you idiot – I think. But I don’t. The conversation ends with her having to go to class. I watch her as she walks away. I see them watching too. They didn’t talk to her this time, but I felt them watching, I knew they were there overlooking me as I drowned in her beauty. But overlooking me wasn’t hard to do; there wasn’t anything really to see. I stand from the table. I throw what’s left of my food away. Time to decide what to do. Stay and wait for her to get out of class so I can torture myself with her presence, or look for a job. I sit back down. I look out the lunchroom window as cars pass on the highway. I wait as always. I feel my stomach turning as my heartache. I feel the pain as it encompasses me, leaving me breathless and panicking. Such a beautiful day, too bad I wasn’t built to enjoy it

Poem: So You Say You Want A Revolution

Everyone talking about a revolution, making political or spiritual statements yet not coming up with solutions, just talking to express, the mess, the world has become, which I must admit is hard to digest, yet I don’t know how to fix it, do you, or are you just going to talk shit, stand up with your raised fist, but when it’s time to act you sit, and look to the next man, the next hand, that’s raised to speak, waiting for something clever or provocative this week, so you can have a cause, to attach your applause, just because, it sounded brilliant, or elegant, no matter if it is irrelevant, when it comes to changing the world, words are pretty, when they excite people or cause pity, or savagery, towards a committee, that deals in agony, but what are words without action, without passion, without love, I would rather talk about love, than who’s fucking up, I would rather make love, than knuckling up, I would rather be love, see love, show love, and scream go love, than watch the world disintegrate from the lack of love.

Short Story: Unnecessary Nonsense

Part I: Friends Till the End. “I don’t want an autopsy,” Sadie said as she casually moved her long blond hair from her face. Her thin hands twitched a little as they returned to rest on the hard café table. Her eyes were swollen and blood red from crying. Her smooth skin had paled from the grief roaming inside of her, but for the first time in her life, she didn’t care about her looks. “Don’t talk like that. You shouldn’t be thinking about that,” Rachel said as she sat across from Sadie in the small booth at the café across from the hospital. Rachel’s long red hair draped behind her all the way down to the booth’s hard seat. She glanced towards the café’s fogged window, taking in the cold rain pouring down on the outside world. Fitting, she thought before she returned her gaze to her friend. “But it’s all I think about Rach. All I can think about is them cutting her,” Sadie said as she stared into Rachel’s swollen green eyes. “I don’t want to talk about Lucy’s autopsy Sadie. Drop it,” Rachel said a little harsher than she wanted. Rachel had already thought about what had happened to Lucy’s body, and she didn’t want to think about her friend’s autopsy any more. Visions of strangers cutting into Lucy’s beautiful body had assailed Rachel’s mind for hours. She wondered if doctors were really as insensitive to the dead as they were in movies and TV shows. She wondered if they would gather around Lucy’s body, finding her death humorous enough to make quips with the police as they ate lunch. “Anyway, I’d rather talk about the good times,” Rachel finished a little calmer. Rachel sat back in the uncomfortable blue booth. She quickly scanned the café. The place was almost empty, except for a few people scattered around obviously waiting to hear word about their loved ones. Worry and palpable thoughts of regret covered their faces. From an elderly woman talking on a cell phone with a very important family member who refused to visit, to a young girl eating ice cream next to a middle aged man who periodically wiped tears from his eyes, to a teenage Goth girl sitting alone staring out of the fogged window at the hospital. “You remember when we first met her?” A slight smile crept across Sadie’s pale tear stained face. The light makeup she’d applied earlier had run down her young face, but again, she didn’t care. “She walked right up to us and said, ‘High, I’m Lucy Rigby, and we are going to be best friends.’” As Rachel remembered the little six-year-old girl with the confidence of a star athlete and a smile that could break the heart of the Devil himself, she smiled. She thought about the oversized Deion Sanders jersey and torn blue jeans Lucy wore that day. She thought about her smooth brown skin and her light brown passion-filled eyes. Even at the age of six, Lucy Rigby was the most passionate person Rachel had ever met. And now that passion is gone forever, Rachel thought as the pain assaulted her again. She tried to think about the good times. But the fact she would never look into her friend’s eyes again made it hard for Rachel to breathe. Her eyes darted around the café again. Her hands had clinched into tight fist. Her flight or fight had kicked into overdrive. She could feel the panic building inside of her. Rachel jumped from the uncomfortable blue booth. She ran out of the café with Sadie running behind her. The two girls stopped in the pouring rain. Their hair dripped behind them. Their clothes became heavy and cold. They shivered as they looked at the monotone hospital building in front of them. They slowly hugged each other as tears streamed down their cheeks, hidden by the cold rain. “Why, Sadie why? Why would someone do that to her? It doesn’t make any sense.” Rachel said as she held Sadie as tight as she could in her arms. “I don’t know Rachel. I wish I did, but I don’t.” “So what are we supposed to do?” Sadie held onto Rachel as tight as Rachel held onto her. “Never forget her. But live our lives the best we can. We owe it to her. Friends till the end. And beyond.” Part II: A Childless Mother. Eleanor Rigby stood in the small chapel staring at a gold cross in front of it. She wore an old t-shirt and old sweat pants – that draped from her now frail body – her ex had thought she’d thrown out while they were together. Her light brown eyes were empty, except for the tears flowing from them. There was no sign of life in her beautifully aged face, only streaks of dried tears and pain. She saw the many candles left by loved ones for the lost souls resting in peace. Resting in peace she thought. What a joke. What’s so peaceful about death? What’s so peaceful about lying in a casket, six feet under the ground, slowly decaying like her little girl will be. Like her baby, the only person that loved her in this god-forsaken world. This world that worshipped a god that forsakes them. “I hate you,” She whispered. “Understandable,” a man said as he walked beside her. Eleanor turned to see Father McKenzie. “When most people suffer as you have. When they feel the indescribable pain of losing a child, they either turn to God or hate him. But no matter what, he loves you Eleanor.” Eleanor would have laughed if she weren’t so angry. Loved her? How could the all omnipotent, all majestic, all knowing God sit back on his thrown judging us all, allowing all this death and misery, taking away our children… her child, profess to love her. No, she hated him, because only a cruel god could allow such a world to exist. “I’m not in the mood Father.” Eleanor said without looking at Father McKenzie. “And don’t give me that ‘God works in mysterious ways’ line. Keep that for your Sunday faithful when they gather with all their sympathy and praises.” “I thought you were a Sunday faithful.” Father McKenzie said. This time, Eleanor laughed a little. “Do you not know what hate is? You’re a religious man, you should definitely know what hate is.” “You’re right I do. A useless and destructive emotion.” Father McKenzie gently placed his hand on Eleanor’s shoulder. She pulled away. The Father then placed his hands in his pockets. “I’m not going to say God works in mysterious ways. I’m not going to say I understand everything that happens in this world. But at the end of every misery we feel, there is a way for the world to be a little better. If we use that misery to drive us instead of allowing it to drown us.” “So the world is a better place now that my baby isn’t in it?” Eleanor yelled as she turned to face Father McKenzie with her rage. “No, I would never say that. You know I would never say that.” Father McKenzie said as he stared in Eleanor’s wrath filled brown eyes. For a moment, he thought she was going to hit him. And if she tried, he wouldn’t stop her. If she needed to take her anger out on someone, then he would be more than willing to let it be him. But Eleanor turned from Father McKenzie. She slowly walked towards the cross. She stood in front of the burning candles. She watched as the lights flickered along the golden surface of Christ’s crucifixion. She wondered about all the people who sat in front of this symbol of mercy praying for their loved ones to make a full recovery after the doctors proclaimed their impending death. Again Eleanor laughed a little. The symbol of mercy is one of the worst torture devices every created by man. Some god. Father McKenzie stood behind her. He slowly raised his hand to place on her shoulder again, but thought better of it. Instead he stared at the cross with her. He then closed his eyes and prayed. Eleanor heard Father McKenzie mumbling behind her. She turned to see him with his eyes closed praying. Her brown eyes filled with rage again. “Stop that. Don’t you dare do that until I leave,” she screamed as more tears flooded down her face. “How can you worship such a god? How can you look at the world and worship such a monster?” Father McKenzie grabbed Eleanor and pulled her into his arms. She struggled for a moment, then relaxed as more tears streamed down her face. “Because I sometimes think about what the world would truly be like without him. He’s not a monster Eleanor. He’s not your enemy. He didn’t kill Lucy or fly a plane into the Twin Towers or send a flood to New Orleans or start wars. He’s weeping like the rest of us. He loves us more than any of us can understand. And he weeps for us daily.” “Then why doesn’t he do something? Why didn’t he stop my little girl from being killed?” Eleanor mumbled. “He gave us two of the greatest gifts he could give us. Gifts he didn’t give any other creature. Not even the Angels in heaven. The gifts of love and free will. It was the girl’s choice to murder Lucy. Her free will. We as a society must find some type of justice for her malicious act of free will. And we must find a way to use our other gift and love her,” Father McKenzie said as he held Eleanor tighter to his solid frame. Eleanor allowed the Father to hold her for a moment. She buried her face into his freshly washed jacket. It smelled good to her, but almost like her ex, which made the anger flare in her for another reason. The jerk didn’t even come to the hospital to see his dead daughter. Not like he had ever been in her life, but he could have at least come to say goodbye. Maybe, just maybe there was a place were Lucy rested in peace. He could have said goodbye to the night, and maybe she could have heard it. Eleanor slowly pulled away from Father McKenzie. For the first time she realized how handsome he was. She stood back and really looked at him. She could see his short frosty blond hair ruffled on top of his head. His baby blue eyes strained from worrying about her. And his tanned ex-surfer boyish face seemed aged with stress. “I’ll be fine Father.” She said while staring into his mesmerizing baby blue eyes. “Thank you, but I want to be alone for a while.” Father McKenzie gave her a slight smile before he turned around and strolled out with his hands in his pockets. Eleanor turned back to the cross; she stood there alone, alone with her thoughts, alone with her grief, alone with her seething anger. She picked up one of the unlit candles sitting to the side of the mural. She lit it and placed it on the table with the other candles. She thought; this is for all the mothers that have lost their only child… the childless mothers. Part III: To Protect And Serve Detective Richardson left the hospital as the cold rain pounded the top of his baldhead. He wore a long brown trench coat that wrapped around his muscular frame like an extra layer of skin. He was proud of his form, how his body was chiseled like an ancient Greek sculpture and his hands could wrap around a man’s head if needed to. Which he had a few times, but mostly the bad guys gave up when they saw the massive gladiator of an officer approaching them like King Leonidas staring down the Persians. No one wanted to rumble with him anymore. And nights like this, he needed a good scrap to release some of his built up rage. It always hurt more when they were young. He was used to going to morgues by now, but it still hurt when the victims were so young. She was just a child, makes no sense, the detective thought as he made his way over to the small café across from the hospital. He passed by the victim’s two best friends holding each other in the rain. He wanted to stop and say something, but nothing came to mind. He still ached from consoling the victim’s mother before she left for the chapel. He thought about following her there, to make sure she was fine, but decided to give her space, her only child had been taken from her, of course she wasn’t fine. Detective Richardson walked inside of the café and removed his soaking trench coat. A teenage Goth girl stared at his bulging chest as the water dripped down his navy blue button up shirt. Her eyes slowly made their way over his body, and then she returned to staring out of the fogged window towards the hospital. Detective Richardson made his way to a booth. His partner was supposed to meet him in a few. So he ordered a cup of coffee when a cute waitress twisted up to him. Any other night, he would have flirted with her. But this night, going home with the cute brunette was the farthest thing from his mind. When she twisted away, he gave her a quick look before he sighed and took a sip of his coffee. It was hot and black, just the way he liked it. Detective Richardson had been on the force for nearly twenty years. He had seen some crazy stuff in his life. He had been involved with some crazy women also, but that was a whole other thing. He remembered his first call once he’d made detective. Some street thugs tried to rob an old man and found themselves shot with a .44. It had been an easy case to solve. Because the guy who had been shot went straight to the hospital and confessed to the nurses what had happened. He was called and that had been that. But cases that involved the death of young kids, they weren’t so easy to deal with. The girl who killed Lucy Rigby did confess to the murder, but the shooter was only a kid herself. It was hard to deal with a world where one girl would take the life of another over a teenage boy who probably didn’t care about either one. When Detective Richardson first joined the force, he convinced himself that when people committed murder, it was because of some injustice the murderer felt. Something harsh like, you attacked my grandmother while she was taking her morning stroll, or you tried to push me out of a speeding car. He wouldn’t have been able to accept that a young girl took another girl’s life over a guy who was more than likely talking to half the girls in the county. Detective Richardson reached in his too-tight slacks and pulled out his wallet. He flipped through the pictures until he saw his twin daughters. They were five, with long curly hair, and light brown eyes. They were pretty like their mother. God help me when they become teenagers. And God help the teenage boys if they develop their mother’s personality. The door to the café opened and Detective Richardson’s partner walked in. Ray Walker was a thin man with short brown hair and green eyes, which mad him look exotic and a bit of a pretty boy. He wore a leather jacket and blue jeans. Ray sat across from Richardson and offered him a cigarette. “You know I don’t put that poison in my body.” Richardson said. Ray took a cigarette out and lit it. He blew out a cloud of smoke. “What, cigarettes don’t go well with steroids?” “This is all natural.” “Yeah, and Barry Bonds is big boned,” Ray joked as he took another drag from the cigarette. “Anyway, we got the other girl at the station. Man, I don’t see any remorse in that girl’s eyes at all. What sins did we commit to have children so cold?” “They not all bad. A lot are doing good. Being productive members of society.” “Until they’re killed by the crazies.” Richardson glanced over to the Goth girl. She continued to stare out of the fogged window. He wondered what pains were haunting her. He wanted to ask, but was afraid she might curse him out, to hide the softness she covered in black make up and piercing. “So that’s it then? Open and shut.” Richardson said as he turned back to his partner. “For us yeah. For the parents, it’s only the beginning.” Ray said before the cute brunette returned to the table with another cup of coffee for Ray and a refill for Richardson. The waitress twisted away again. Ray watched her all the way to the back. “Brunettes… gotta love’em.” “Just left Ms. Rigby. She was heading to the chapel.” Richardson said, pulling Ray’s attention back to him. Ray put out the cigarette. “I don’t want to ever know what she is feeling. Saw the two friends hugging each other outside. Was going to stop, but didn’t know what to say.” “Me too,” Richardson said as he took a sip of his coffee. Richardson placed the coffee on the stained table. He shifted in the uncomfortable booth. “With nights like this, it makes me wonder if we’re doing any good. We couldn’t save a woman’s child. Or keep another child from being a murderer.” “This one’s not on us. It’s not on anyone except the girl that pulled the trigger.” “But we’re the adults. We’re the police. Isn’t it our job to stop them? Twenty years, twenty years man and I don’t feel like I’ve done any good.” “Now you talking crazy,” Ray said as he sat up in his seat. “How many scumbags have you put away in your twenty years? How many families have you gotten justice for? That’s our job, justice.” “Lucy Rigby is lying dead in a morgue. Her best friends are standing in the cold rain holding onto each other for dear life. Her mother is suffering in a way only described in the bible as what is waiting for us sinners in hell. The parents of the murderer will have to live the rest of their lives knowing what their child did. And that their child’s life is basically over. Where is the justice Ray? Justice doesn’t matter. We, the world, all of us human beings should have the same job and the same goal. To protect and serve. Before we become mourners.” Part IV: The Funeral Rachel, with her long red hair pulled in a ponytail, because that’s the way Lucy liked it, watched as Father McKenzie finished his speech. Rachel didn’t remember what Father McKenzie said. Her mind had been somewhere else. She thought about the last time she’d come to a funeral. It had been her grandmother, who had been in her late nineties and was ready to go. Rachel remembered when her grandmother held her in the hospital bed and whispered in Rachel’s ear, ‘enjoy every moment of your life my sweet little girl. It will go by so fast, and leave you drained and tired. But if you enjoy it, you will be ready when its your time.’ What if your time comes before you’re ready, Rachel thought. Lucy wasn’t ready. She didn’t have time to enjoy life. She didn’t have time to really live. Rachel thought about how her grandmother lived almost eighty years longer than Lucy. It wasn’t fair. But what is it that people say all the time? Life isn’t fair. Rachel looked around at the other sobbing people. They were all dressed in the typical black attire most people wore at funerals. Actually, the entire funeral had been pretty typical. People only saying good things about the deceased. Even those who knew nothing about Lucy. The typical sniffles flowed through the crowd. Rachel had a chance to say something but declined. Sadie on the other hand gave a beautiful speech about what a true friend is. Of course Sadie cried before she got to the end, but everyone was crying by that time. Rachel greeted her friend with a long hug as she returned to her seat. They gave each other half smiles as Father McKenzie rose to give the final words. Rachel was pulled out of her head as she watched the casket holding her best friend lowered into its eternal resting spot. At that moment Rachel surveyed the graveyard. It was pretty nice for a graveyard. But like the funeral, it too was typical. It had rows and rows of head stones. Fresh flowers on some graves and withering flowers on others. Some of the graves looked as if no one had visited them for years. Rachel figured those graves belonged to people who lived lonely lives. Alone in life and alone in death, Rachel thought as her mind went back to her best friend’s casket as it finally reached the bottom of the grave. Rachel looked over at Ms. Rigby and Ms. Rigby’s sister, Julia. The two women were holding onto each other. Ms. Rigby’s black hair matched her dress and shoes. She had obviously lost weight. And her make up was streaming down her strained face. Julia was a little taller than Ms. Rigby. Her physical features were that of a model. More accurately, a super model. She also had black hair that matched her outfit. Their bodies looked as if they would crumble any moment from grief. Rachel glanced into Julia’s eyes. They look puffy and strained like Ms. Rigby. She acknowledged Rachel with a woeful smile. Rachel walked over to them. Ms. Rigby gave Rachel a long hug before she walked away. “How is she holding up?” Rachel asked. “As well as she can I guess,” Julia answered. “If she or you need anything. Just let me know. Okay.” Rachel said. Julia gave Rachel a slight smile. “I was just about to say that to you. You’re strong Rachel, never lose that, never compromise that for anyone.” Julia hugged Rachel. Julia then pulled back, dried her eyes, and joined her grieving sister. People started lining up to throw dirt into the grave. Rachel stood at the front of the line; so she could get it over with. Behind her stood Sadie. As Rachel grabbed a fist full of dirt, she looked back at her. Sadie started crying again. Which caused more tears to build in Rachel’s eyes. Rachel then glanced towards the back of the line and saw Ms. Rigby standing there. It’s kind of symbolic, Rachel thought. The person that gave Lucy life, will be the person that finalizes her death. As she dropped her hand full of dirt into the grave, Rachel thought, I’ll make sure you’re not alone in death. I’ll come visit you every day. Goodbye Lucy. I’m sorry you didn’t get a chance to see the world. What did you call violence? Yeah, I’m sorry you were a victim of all this unnecessary nonsense. - the end -