Jane wanted him to die. The creep on the stationary bike behind hers. He was panting hard even though he was barely pedaling. She would have run out of the gym, but she had to wait for Nancy, the lady next to her in class, who had said she would bring her an extra bottle of water from the vending machine.

Nancy meanwhile was putting the cap back on Jane’s water bottle. Like those around her, she added powder from an electrolyte packet she had brought from home.

Right when Jane thought she was going to punch the creep, Nancy was back.

“Thanks!” Jane said as Nancy gave her the water.

“No problem, dear. Always glad to help,” Nancy said and smiled.

Jane jumped off her bike, quickly wiped the machine down, and left the gym guzzling down water.

Nancy looked at her husband, who had stared at Jane’s ass all through spin class. Poor girl. She’d collapse in an hour and be declared dead. All because Hank couldn’t keep his eyes to himself, the bastard.

Daisy knew that getting a job from Craigslist was a bad idea. She also knew that taking a job labeled, "Help us Prove Ghosts Exist,"was idiotic. But desperate times called for desperate measures. And Daisy, with only $10 in her checking account, was desperate. Maybe if she hadn't decided to drop out of business school to follow a dream of becoming a documentarian, things would be different. But she needed money, and applying to work as a videographer for a kooky Craigslist listing was the best she could do for now.

So she applied for the job, and got it. She found out that she would be left alone in an abandoned asylum for a night to capture video. The team member, Carl, who spoke to her in a video call, said that they wanted live footage of the hauntings. They wanted her to be there in order to make sure the footage wouldn't be tampered with by the ghosts.

Which is why she found herself alone in a pitch-black bedroom of the abandoned Anderson Asylum. Carl had told her this bedroom had the highest reading of paranormal activity. The only reading Daisy was getting was the creepy vibe of being left alone in the dark of an old building. Overall, though, this job was easy and she was going to be paid $500.

So she waited and endured three hours of nothing happening.

Then, at around 2 am, she heard a noise. It sounded like a squeak.

"Great, there are probably rats," Daisy thought to herself.

Then she heard a whine. Or maybe a sob. Nope, it had to be another squeak. Because Daisy knew no one else was here.

"Mum?"

Daisy froze. Nope, she didn't hear that. She knew she didn't.

"Mum?"

Nope, nope, nope. She had fallen asleep at this point. That was the explanation. She was not hearing a word coming out of nothing.

"Mum?"

Why did she feel a rush of cold go over her body? Because her temperature had dropped as the night went on. That's why.

"Mum?"

Daisy was not feeling something nudge her. She was asleep, and she had to wake up. She had to wake up.

"MUM!"

Daisy jumped when she heard the yell. And hit her head on the low ceiling. The resulting pain she felt was too real, and too obvious a sign, that she had never been asleep.

Daisy was done. With this weird assignment. With whatever paranoia was hitting her. It didn't matter anymore that she was desperate for money, she just wanted to get out of there. She grabbed her purse and sprinted out of the room, crashing into things as she went because she couldn't see anything. She didn't slow down until she had driven back home.

Carl didn't end up paying her the full $500. She did get $250 for still providing film footage from the night, as she had left her camera behind. She also got the camera back. And something else.

Every night, since the night at the asylum, Daisy had the same dream.

It was of a small girl, with curly blonde hair, who stared at her from two black voids where eyes should have been. She said one thing. Over and over.

"Mum?"

Chrissy knew something was wrong with Brad. They had been in a relationship for two years now, and the first year and half of them were fantastic. Hot sex, great dates, and a boyfriend who showered her with gifts had made this the best relationship in Chrissy's life. But something had changed.

Brad had started disappearing during the night.

The two of them would go to bed together, and he would be there when she woke up in the morning. But one day, Chrissy woke early and found that Brad was gone. She had drunk a liter of water before bed because she had had a headache, and woke up at 3 am needing to pee. It wasn't until she had come back from the bathroom that she noticed Brad wasn't in bed. She had been confused and hadn't been able to reach Brad on his cellphone. She ended up falling asleep, and when she woke up in the morning, he was back.

After a few more of these disappearances, Chrissy decided it was time to take matters in her own hands. She was too nervous that the magic of this perfect relationship would end if she confronted him. So she thought she could find out about Brad by following him.

She waited until after a night of sushi and great sex. She set her smart watch to vibrate every hour to wake her up. Therefore she was able to pretend to still be asleep when Brad left her apartment in the morning. She almost missed him when she woke up at 3 am and heard her front door closing. She sprang out of bed, ran to her door, and slid it open to see Brad get into the elevator. Thankful that her pjs were always a shirt and leggings, Chrissy slipped on her sneakers and ran out to the staircase. By the time she got to the lobby, she saw him just leaving her apartment building.

Chrissy slipped out behind him and started following him. She walked slowly enough so that Brad was far enough ahead of her without raising his suspicions. They walked down five blocks, until Brad rounded a corner and entered an alleyway. Chrissy hurried up to the corner, but when she stepped into the alleyway, Brad was nowhere to be seen. The alleyway was a dead end, and nowhere for him to have disappeared to. She walked up to the end of the alley, a bricked-up back of another building. She held up her hand to the wall, and shrieked when it disappeared into nothing. She quickly pulled it back, and it came back without a scratch. She was confused, but also very tired, and at this point, too interested in finding out where Brad had gone. So without thinking, she slowly approached the wall, holding her hands up so that they could go first. Both hands and arms disappeared into the wall without meeting any resistance, and she took the plunge and walked through the wall completely.

Once she had walked through the wall, she was surprised to find herself in what appeared to be a well-lit hallway. The hallway looked similar to a hospital, and there were closed doors evenly spaced out along the path in front of her. Chrissy could hear what sounded like a multitude of whispers wafting from the doorways. She recognized one of the whispers, because it was Brad's voice. She walked along the hall, putting her ears against the door to listen to the different sounds, until she heard Brad's voice. But she didn't hear it only once. She heard it multiple times, as if he was speaking to himself.

Chrissy knew it probably wasn't a good idea to open the door. Maybe if it was a different time and circumstance, she would have been more careful. But at this point,

she was so overwhelmed, confused, and desperate to find out what was going on. So, she opened the door.

And screamed when she saw the group of five figures in cloaks standing before her. They all turned to face her. The figure in the middle pushed down its hood and revealed, Brad's face.

"Chrissy, what are you doing?" he asked her. Instead of being reassured now that she had found him, Chrissy was pissed.

"Brad, what the hell is going on?" Chrissy asked him.

That didn't help. Because now the other 4 figures took their hoods down to reveal: Brad's face. There were now five Brads staring at her. Five Brads with different hairstyles. One had mutton chops, one was bald, another was wearing a goatee, and the fourth Brad had a beard. Then there was the Brad who had the same hairstyle as the Brad who had gone to bed with her.

That Brad was looking embarrassed at her, before he said, "Um, well babe, you know how some people believe in past lives? Say hello to mine."

Chrissy stared at him, then again at the other Brads.

"Okay," she said, and promptly passed out.

It's a quick trip. I've gone to visit my grandmother in her new retirement home. I'm going back home and I fall asleep once I'm settled on the train.

When I wake up, I'm no longer alone in the compartment. Three men are facing me. The two in uniforms are sitting on either side of a man who's staring straight at me. His eyes are wide and his mouth is gaping slightly. I feel a shock run through me. I know him. I know him even though I've never seen him before in my life.

He's terrified. He's wearing a pale gray prison uniform and I see the sweat stains under his arms. He has both legs and arms chained to the other men. I know where he's going. He's not coming back.

But I know him. And he knows me. We know what's supposed to happen now.

We're supposed to leave this train together. I'm supposed to take him to my cramped apartment and let him change into an old outfit my brother left me before he left for the war. Then this man and I would eat the meat pies my grandmother gave me. Then we would spend the night together.

And every night after that. Until the day we're both gray and wrinkled and our bodies have become limp sacks of skin and bone. Until the day we both fall asleep forever.

But that isn't what's going to happen. We both know this when we feel the train come to a stop. The uniformed men quickly stand up and undo the shackles on his feet. They push him out of the compartment.

All I can do is stare at the back of him as he's taken away from me.

I'm exhausted. My eyes are burning. My eyelids are heavy and keep dropping. I need to sleep, but the thought of waking up again to do this all over again is even more exhausting.

So here I am. Sitting in front of this machine. Typing whatever pops in my mind. Avoiding the reality. Because if I take the time to reflect and realize what my life has become, I'm going to never want to sleep again.

It can't keep going like this. I can't keep waking up and immediately want to go back to sleep. I can't keep thinking the hours of the day are just meant to be kept busy until I can go back to bed.

Something has to change. Even if I don't know what that change is. Or where to begin.

Do I need to go to sleep first so that I have a clear head? Or do I sit here and rack my overworked brain for ideas until I have no energy and just plop my head down and pass out.

Ugh, my eyes are so sore. And my eyelids can't stay up anymore. But I don't want to sleep. I want to do something. Change something. Act something. Do anything!

As long as I keep writing, I can still change. So I need to keep writing. Just write. Anything, as long as I'm still writing, I'm doing something. And hopefully, that will lead to something more.

She walks upright

No shame on her face

As they jeer and scream

The wood is ready

Laid out like a nest

Ready for the crackle

That will hit and spit

The men yell

They want her to hear

Their fear and hate

For a woman with mettle

She did no evil

Just helped

Just healed

Just hoped

But she did it on her own

For that

She must burn

She walks onto her nest

Of wood and thorns

Her bare feet press

Onto the harsh boards

They tie her up

With a harsh cord

A rope to contain

All that she owns

And then they prepare

To Burn Her

Her power

Her grace

Her right

From their Torches

The flames

Lick the boards

First gently

Then strongly

until she too is touched

by the tongues of light

that will ignite her

into the night.

“What the hell?”

“Heather, will you calm down?”

“How am I supposed to calm down Brittany? My leg is stuck in a freaking fence!”

I look at my sister with eyes opened wide and filled with panic. I’m breathing so hard I’m practically panting. My left leg is in an odd angle and my foot is stuck. Stuck at the bottom of a ripped out hole in a chain-link fence that’s large enough for someone to go through if they ducked. Brittany crouches down and looks at the worn down cuff of my jeans which has been caught by the sharp barbs of the chain-link fence. I start feeling claustrophobic and whip my head back and forth between trying to see what she’s doing and looking back at the river behind me that’s coursing down so loudly it sounds like a thunderstorm.

“Will you stay still?” Brittany mutters at me. Brittany has always been more level-headed than me, even though I’m older than her by two years.

I didn’t realize how worn down my jeans were. From what I can see, the cuffs are more string than jean and the string has become entangled with the chain-link. It’s like trying to unknot necklaces after transporting them together in a bag: a pain-in-the-ass.

Her impatience isn’t helping.

After five minutes, at least I think it’s that long, could be shorter for all I know since I’m not timing her, Brittany’s able to untangle my jeans by ripping off the strands connected to the fence. I’m not overly concerned over the damage. It’s long past their time to be thrown out.

“There you go!” Brittany springs up and bows at me. She straightens up and gives me a goofy smile. I’m not in such a good mood.

“Why did it take you so long?” I gingerly move my foot away from the fence and step on it warily. Did I twist it?

“You’re very welcome. Pleased to be of service.”

“Stop being a smart ass. Let’s get out of here.”

We start running, but we don’t go as fast as we hope, or at least as fast as Brittany wants us to go, judging from her whispers at me to hurry up. My legs feel stiff and I’m limping; I think I really did twist my foot.

“Remind me again why we’re in a hurry?” I gasp out at her, holding onto my side that feels like it’s on fire.

“Because if you don’t get back home before mom comes you’re going to get caught for skinny dipping in the river and get into so much trouble you’ll forget what sunlight feels like.” Even though she’s running faster than me she isn’t out of breath or clutching her side. In fact, she’s holding herself up pretty well. I, on the other hand, think I’m going to pass out if I don’t get to take a break soon.

“Right. And why did we go skinny dipping again?”

“Because mom forbid you from going back to the river, and since we never agree with her, your first instinct was to do what we knew would piss her off the most,” Brittany’s face is now positioned in what I affectionately refer to as her bitch-face. I laugh at how serious she is but have to quickly stop because I don’t have enough oxygen to laugh and breathe.

We soon arrive in front of our white-picket fence with the red mailbox standing guard in front of the gate. I pat the mailbox affectionately and go ahead in front of Brittany to enter our home first. In the front hallway I hear an excited bark and our golden-retriever, Max runs up to me, his tongue lolling out and tail wagging. I hug him tightly and look up at Brittany who’s smiling at Max, her eyes gleaming. When he looks at her he suddenly starts growling and bares his teeth at her. Brittany’s face falls and she steps back when he barks at her. The last time he barked like that was when someone was trying to break into the house.

“Stop it Max! What’s wrong with you?” I try to pull him away from Brittany but he won’t budge. Every muscle is on high alert and he looks more like a wolf than dog right now. Brittany’s now glaring at Max but her lips are curled in a half-smile. She walks towards him and laughs when he starts whimpering and runs away.

“What's his problem?” I ask and look at Brittany helplessly. She always has the answers. She just shrugs and heads towards the staircase.

“Ignore him. He probably ate something weird outside.”

We both walk up to the bedroom we’ve shared since Brittany was born. My side is covered in posters of Lana del Rey and Ellie Goulding and my clothes, makeup, and books are scattered everywhere. Brittany’s side is completely clean. Nothing hangs on the walls and her possessions are all hidden in drawers; even her bed is plain, just a white sheet and pillow cover it.

“You should really spice up your side,” I remark at her, “Why did you take down your drawings?”

Brittany briefly glances at her bed and shrugs, “I like your stuff better. I feel like you have more than we need to decorate this room.” She stops talking and whips her head towards the door. I hear the front door open and mom’s greeting.

“Heather, where are you?”

“In my room, mom!” I yell back at her. I furtively glance at Brittany. “Do you think she knows about the skinny dipping?” I’m suddenly nervous. I know we should have never gone down to the river after that time Brittany and I almost drowned in it last summer, but I couldn’t help it. Brittany was so excited about the idea and her excitement is infectious. Now that we’re home though, and I’m about to face my mom, I don’t want to get into trouble. I look at Brittany in panic and she smiles at me.

“Stop freaking out! You’ll be fine. I doubt she’ll know what you did.”

We hear footsteps on the landing and soon my mom walks in. I can tell she’s had a long day. Her hair is limp and there are bags under her eyes. She hasn’t been feeling that well. Actually, she hasn’t been doing well ever since last summer. That’s why she’s made me come to therapy with her, so that I can understand what she’s going through. I don’t like her therapist. He never makes a lot of sense and says ridiculous things so I’ve learned to just tune him out and use the forty-five minutes to plan what I’ll do with Brittany later.

Mom walks over to me and gives me a small smile.

“Hi honey. I got dinner from KFC. If you set the table we can eat.”

I grin. KFC is our favorite fast food. Something about heaps of fried chicken is like an art form for us. I turn to share my excitement with Brittany but mom interrupts me before I can speak.

“Honey, what are you looking at?”

Brittany glares at her and gives her the same half smile she gave Max. I look at mom in surprise.

“Brittany,” I tell her confused. For some reason, her eyes start tearing up. Completely ignoring Brittany she walks to the plain nightstand Brittany’s standing in front of and picks up a framed photo of the two of us that we took last summer, two weeks before we went skinny dipping. It's Brittany’s favorite because her blond hair is glowing in the sun and her blue eyes are shining. I look almost muted in comparison with my black pixie cut and pale face. Mom puts down the frame and I hear her take a big sniff.

“Okay. Well honey, come when you’re ready then,” She turns back to me and gives me a watery attempt at a smile. She touches my arm lightly, and still completely ignoring Brittany, walks out of the room.

I look at Brittany.

“What was that about?” I ask her, “Do you think working long hours has finally gotten to her?”

Brittany doesn’t say anything and just continues to look at the door where our mom left. I wonder what she’s thinking. I shrug and follow my mom out to set the table. I turn to look behind me but Brittany doesn’t move, just glares at me while giving me a half-smile.

Existence begins

Eyes and mouth open to scream-

Help me to survive.

Innocence thrives here

Learning and wonder emerge-

Time to discover.

Need to find one’s self

Change occurring everywhere-

Fears of truth appear.

Independence thrives

Choose adventure or comfort-

Accept ups and downs.

An ending appears

Pack only your memories-

Now time for a rest.

Drip, drip, drip.

Water spills

from the vase

to the table

onto the floor.

Drip, drip, drip.

Blood trickles

from the finger

to the wrist

onto the table.

Drip, drip, drip.

A petal falls

from the rose

to the lap

of the woman.

Drip, drip, drip.

A tear flows

down his face

to his beard

and disappears.

The liquid splashed around the cup as Georgia struggled to put her coffee back on the table without spilling it. Other people had already ruined the linoleum on her plastic dining-room table and it was covered in scratches and peeling around the edges. The table had been white at some point but was now yellowed from years of use. Two ashtrays on the table were overflowing with ash and cigarette butts. The entire room smelled musty, courtesy of a combination of Florida humidity and a busted air conditioning unit, plus years of stale cigarette smoke. It wasn’t any use to open the windows to let in fresh air. The window screens were all broken and Georgia didn’t feel like replacing them. She also didn’t feel like letting in a bunch of mosquitoes into her home.

Georgia scratched her pale leathery cheek with a yellow and nubby index finger. Flakes of dead skin scratched from an old scab floated down onto an ash tray. Georgia stared at the black girl sitting at the other side of the table. She could barely see her through her glasses foggy from never being cleaned and getting multiple scratches on the lenses. The girl was younger than Georgia had expected when her daughter told her she’d hired a house cleaner for her. She also hadn’t said the girl was black. The girl’s hair was a mess, curled into dirty dreadlocks. Georgia restrained herself from grabbing the kitchen scissors, rusty and lying on the table next to cut up bills, and cutting the girl’s hair off. Georgia knew their hair did different things from hers, but she also knew that dreadlocks came about because someone didn’t brush their hair. Georgia always took good care of her hair. Her arthritic fingers may hurt now with the effort but she still brushed her hair one-hundred times at night and put it in curlers before going to bed just like she’d done for the past seventy years. Arnold, her husband, had loved her hair. She missed Arnold. She didn’t understand why God had taken him away from her. Or why her daughter thought she needed a housemaid. It was funny that her daughter pretended their ancestors had never owned slaves, and now she was giving Georgia the gift of a black girl to clean up after her.

It pissed Georgia off when people whined about those who glorified the South. They seemed to forget that the South had helped America to get to where it was today. Georgia knew it wasn’t right to treat people like property, but they weren’t treated like that anymore. The South had learned from its mistakes. No one seemed to do that today. Georgia’s granddaughter, Lisa, loved telling her off and blaming her for everything bad that had happened in the past, but when it came to taking responsibility for her own life, what did she do? Lisa blamed Georgia’s generation for everything while she herself lived on her parents’ income and went to a college paid by her father’s parents. They paid for a useless art degree instead of forcing Lisa to get a job and take care of her own life. That was the problem of that generation. They complained and blamed the wrong people instead of taking responsibility for their own lives. Georgia couldn’t have afforded to do that when she was Lisa’s age. She started working at sixteen to help her mom raise the money needed to take care of five kids because her father had died for his country that now spit on her.

The black girl in front of Georgia didn’t look older than sixteen but apparently was twenty like Lisa and needed money to help pay for college. She didn’t have rich grandparents to spoil her. From what Georgia knew of black families, this girl had been raised by a single mother because the father ran off or was too lazy to find a decent job. Or maybe he was in jail. Georgia still remembered how terrified she had been after David was mugged in a parking lot. It didn’t surprise her that he never fully trusted black people afterwards if they were off mugging people. Georgia saw enough stuff on the news to know that more blacks were jailed for stealing than whites. That couldn’t just be bias as Lisa kept telling Georgia while eating the food her parents paid for. What about the time that poor woman had been attacked by a black man while running in the woods near the city’s country club? Lisa could be as righteous as she wanted to be, but Georgia knew that she stopped going for runs after that attack. And now her daughter, Lisa’s mother, wanted her to hire a black housekeeper.

The girl hadn’t said anything yet. She shifted in her seat occasionally but resolutely looked directly at Georgia or glanced over the house. Georgia wondered if she was looking for something to steal. She made a quick scan. They were in the kitchen. From there, Georgia could look into the living room that was just big enough for a couch and Arnold’s threadbare armchair. There was nothing valuable in the kitchen. The original gas stove was now covered in burn marks. The old white cupboards were covered in scratches and dirt. A plastic tiled floor with paintings of faded flower bouquets had missing tiles because the glue had worn off and Georgia didn’t feel like replacing them.

Georgia took a drag from her cigarette and stared at the girl. The girl stared straight back. Georgia didn’t like that.

“My daughter said you’ve cleaned houses before,” Georgia said. The girl blinked but kept looking straight at her as she spoke.

“Yes ma’am. I started cleaning houses last summer. I can show you my references if you’d like to see them.”

Georgia barely listened as the girl talked. She was distracted by the girl’s nose ring. Her daughter had told her they were a new trend and she called them septic rings or something like that. She couldn’t see any, but Georgia was sure the girl had tattoos. Georgia took a deep drag from her cigarette. It was disgusting what people did to their bodies now. When she was twenty, Georgia ironed her clothes and kept her hair in neat curls. This girl was wearing a tank top with a marijuana leaf on it. It looked it had been dug up from the bottom of a pile of dirty laundry. She didn’t have a handbag, just a faded wallet and a cell phone that she had put on the table, far away from the ashtray.

Georgia looked away from the girl who was staring at her and took another drag from her cigarette. Nothing happened. She stuffed the new nub into an ash tray and took a new cigarette out of the can she bought from Sam’s Club when her daughter had taken her there for some shopping. It was convenient that she didn’t have to rely on those puny packs that barely got her through a day. Georgia lit the cigarette with the last lighter Arnold had bought for her. He had smoked cigars. She still had the last one he had smoked on when he had had his heart attack. It was stored in an old cigar humidor along with the letters he had written to her from Vietnam and the picture of him in his uniform.

“Excuse me, ma’am, do you have any other questions for me? I’m getting picked up by someone in ten minutes.” The girl spoke suddenly and it startled Georgia. She dropped her cigarette on the table. It made a new burn mark on the linoleum before going out. She had forgotten about the girl who had just interrupted a memory of Arnold and made her waste a cigarette.

“Yes, I do have more questions for you,” Georgia told the girl. “If you’ve been cleaning for other people, why’s my daughter telling me we need to hire you because you need the money? I’d think that if you’ve been working you don’t need to be asking anyone any favors.” Georgia didn’t like how the girl was now looking at her, with hate in those eyes framed by dirty dreadlocks.

“I did not ask for anyone’s charity, ma’am. I was offered the job because Mrs. Lars told me she was looking for a housekeeper to help you out.” Georgia didn’t like this backtalk, especially by someone asking to work for her.

“Listen up, Miss.” She couldn’t remember what her daughter had told her this girl’s name was. “I don’t want a housekeeper. I can clean my own house. When I was your age, I didn’t ask for handouts. That’s because I’d already been working since I was sixteen and helped my mother raise four children. What’d you do?” Georgia was so aggravated she rasped the table with her knuckles, sending ash from the trays to sprinkle over the table. The girl kept looking at her with an insolent gaze and then had the nerve to stand up.

“I apologize for wasting your time, ma’am. I’ll let Mrs. Lars know my services aren’t required by you.”

Georgia sat in shock as the girl left her kitchen without waiting for her to say something back. She lit another cigarette and went to the kitchen window to see the girl hurriedly walk to a car parked in front of her house.

Georgia watched the girl from the kitchen window, but made sure to stand to the side far away enough so she wouldn’t be seen by her nosy neighbors who were outside mowing their lawns. She recognized the car. It was her daughter’s hybrid. She saw Lisa, her granddaughter, stepping out of the car. Georgia took a quick drag from her cigarette. The nicotine warmed her and she relaxed. Lisa was finally visiting her. She knew her ultimatum at Thanksgiving of never seeing Georgia again, after she made made a random remark about the two women who lived next door to her, had been a bluff. Maybe Lisa was here to help her clean. Georgia watched with surprise as the girl walked towards Lisa. They talked but she couldn’t tell what they were saying. Lisa glanced at the kitchen window and Georgia took two quick drags from her cigarette. Lisa was frowning. Then she smiled and said something to the girl who laughed. Her dreadlocks shook while she laughed. Georgia took another drag on the cigarette but her heart was beating fast. With a quick second glance at the window, Lisa grabbed the girls’ face in her hands and kissed her.

Georgia dropped the cigarette. Ash was knocked off onto the floor but the cigarette stayed lit. It dropped close to the lace curtains at the kitchen window. If Georgia nudged her foot slightly, the curtains would go up in flames. She didn’t notice the danger. Her attention was fixed to watching pale skin on black. Georgia watched helplessly as her granddaughter and the black girl kissed on her front lawn. She kept watching as they walked, laughing and kissing each other, to her daughter’s car. Georgia stepped numbly back from the window as they drove off, and with her step, kicked the lit cigarette towards the lace curtains. Georgia watched numbly as flames slowly licked their way up the curtains. She couldn’t feel the heat from the fire, not even as the flames wafted higher and higher up the curtains.