Don't forget about Timmy. Don't forget about Timmy.

But what if. I forgot. Two Ladies draped in red and blue came to my door and asked me to pray for Timmy. "Never forget," they said in unison. I don't want to think of the punishments they had to endure to get that right. The number one tourist attraction is berating the locals about the mysterious indie cottage temple that lives below the mountain by the sea; we answer like robots reading off a script that is tagged *with excitement, and roll our eyes when we see the building unclaimed by the mountain.

Timmy of Nazareth. We gather here today, hand in hand, to pray for your salvation. Pray that you have found peace. Pray that those who have missed you are found well. Pray that those who hurt for you will be given strength. We hope that God has found you well and free of sin and able body to carry you to a blissful slumber where you shall watch over the creators' world and love for those unable to love themselves. Amen.

They left right after that. My prayer to you was loose, weak and wet; this is what I get for not conversing with my imaginary friends. Nothing like that would be able to get through to god or protect you from the devil, pray be he find you (knock on wood). I don't know what will. I can't the last time I was praying—The night of the storm. The night I was excited to sleep in tune with the pitter-patter of the rain. Ill put on a funny voice and exclaim with air exiting my nose as I speak, 'she did not '. I'm seeing where this is going. I got my cup of Jo, sheets to keep me warm, Blaire witch on tv, and the microwave signing; dinner is ready.

He must have died. Timmy. Timothy when older. A tragic story. Of kids on Halloween. But it is winter, and the ground is as soft as snow. My glass of water looks likes it's dancing to the rain god with how the moon and lighting shine off it. It will fall by the end of the night. At this moment, I wasn't afraid or emotional. I was in bed about to drop asleep when my mom came home, drunk, mixed in with some heroin. Her presence shook the house, shook the bed, shook my glass. My glass fell to the ground. It was morning now. I must've been dreaming. I don't have a mom. Well, maybe that is too harsh on her. I don't think I would say anything like that behind her back. That is mean.

Red roses. Red dresses. House all dressed up for guests. Do you believe in ghosts? If Timmy were a ghost, he would be haunting the town. It might be Timmy doesn't exist, and these people are just here to gather money. I haven't seen it or had it done to me, but I have seen it on tv.

Mom, are you there? What does it feel like to be square? My shoes sit lopsided with the laces undone, and it seems I have lost a pair. The kitchen is clean, but there is a jar I cannot reach. Windows have shine, and the curtains remain their colour. The garden is looking for a master as well. I don't know what to do. I don't know how to respond to your calls anymore. You left mom. You choose your fight, and you fail. I picked mine and won. I lost a mom that day you brought that man over. I lost a brother and a son.

Too morbid if you ask me talking to ghosts. Now. Where did I put that smile?

It hits me where jesus touches me as the DVD closes off to black. My eyes turn to black, and I fade beside my plate. How long had it been since I talked to mother, dearest, sweetest? The dove of my life. I could use background sound or something. I want to be ignorant of the other voices that fill the dark. Thank You Very mUCH—time to penetrate and fully understand. There's an hour till bed. I did nothing today either. I should reward myself with a cinnamon espresso tomorrow morning before I visit my aunt and uncle tomorrow. That video should come out nicely. It doesn't need to be a lot of me always.

Warm milk, or cold milk, honey or Nesquick.

The table round, fallen Halloween and Christmas decorations, pronumnerate the fabricated flowers in the middle being dragged by a lone desert wolf. The blanket around me has mechanically betrayed me by causing the crystal ball to roll off the drawer beside the door using math and physics that would make Albert einstein drop to his knees. I don't remember why I came, and I don't know why I tried to run away. The floor became frictionless; my hands in front of me to catch the ground, but all it met was air; as slender arms lifted me to meet my dad's face, I shied away. The blanket twice my size lay triumphant. I was eaten whole; my memory draws a blank before connecting to the next; in conclusion, that's what happened in-between. But we follow me again outside by our tree that overshadows our house and gives me shade in the summer. Now knocked over. my parents had left me by the door, scarred for my parents lives to confront the wood loving vampire that had stomped on the head of the tree and dug its fangs into its base, pulling out with such ferocity that the crime can determine that the fiend intended to kill and not to feed. I saw our neighbours also starting to walk towards our house. But I didn't care about them. I went back inside.

Timothy. Code name Timmy had been on a secret private plane flying above for a super-secret mission. Donning his secret clothing and putting on his secret mask to cover his secret deeds. He failed the execution. The final landing to invade our property. I can't believe a business is out there willing to put on a newbie such secret responsibilities, risks and pressure.

Which Timmy was it. The one driving the car or the one that fell to their eternal home in our tree. We moved since. Well, my parents did. Weeellll. Basically, no one lived in this house for a very long time until I came back to it to call it home again. Mom wasn't able to sell it and it is ours, so mine to use and i use frequently.

I don't want to laugh at the Timmy story. But i catch myself laughing. The red sports car, the red diving suit. It's not funny. Was it Timmy one or Timmy two that the red ladies came to pray to. The child probably. The secret Timmy had no followers.

There's a knock on the door: dinner is gone, Blaire witch is over, leaving the blue play screen to illuminate the room. Covered in blankets once again, I open the door with a smile on my face. "Hello". They are here again—the witches in the red robes.

"Have you heard of Timmy?"