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,

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.