“You don’t even like him!” Cathy screamed when she was leaving my room. Which is not strictly true. At least the fact that she was leaving my room. She was rather storming out of it. And she slammed the door in my face. Not that I minded, though. I mean, she was right, wasn’t she? I didn’t even like him. Really. I mean it – cross my heart!

It does not matter now, she thought. Nothing does. She will close her eyes and everything will disappear. The world. The tears. The pain. That was what she hoped for, that was what she believed in, that was what she had never tried before. Because if she tried and it didn’t work, she would have nothing left to have faith in. Because if she closed her eyes and the pain were still there, she would be broken. She would be destroyed. Ruined. Quashed.

She walked to St. Mary Magdalene’s clutching a tan trench coat around her body.
It was the coat he had given her just two nights prior to his death and far too big for her lithe frame. Stopping just below her ankles it would have dragged the ground if not for her stiletto boots. Nevertheless, the coat protected her from the bitter winter wind, just as it had protected her from the splatters of blood the night he died.

Tabitha creased her sweater once again and wiped her tears.
She didn’t want him to know she’d been crying. He’d hate that.

Her eyes searched for that familiar face in the crowd that descended from the escalator.
Must be any minute now. She clenched on the barriers that prevented her to rush through the customs and find Carl herself.

They met in a formal dinner. She was nervous. He was sweet. They both led very busy lives with very demanding careers. He managed to make quite an impression, until he took her to the middle of the floor, and asked her to dance the chicken dance with him. In a black-tie formal event. Utterly shocked, her eyebrows shot up as she asked him, “You’re joking right?”

She woke up and instantly checked the clock. 3 am. Not that bad, she thought. Yesterday it was 2 am, the day before she had not have any sleep at all. She hardly could sleep since he had gone. How could she sleep if he was not there. She was sitting on her bed, looking around, waiting, ready to see him enter the room. Though she knew he never would.

“Take up that Kentucky incense and smoke it, Bernerd!” the old woman said, pointing to the hand rolled cigarette in the ashtray of the fifty-four Fairlane, “A man of yer age and ya ain’t learnt better than ta’smoke.” She scowled folding over the top of her leather purse, “Old fool,” she grumbled.

Bernerd reached over and butted out his homemade smoke never taking his eyes off the night road. “Only and old fool would take an old crank like yew ta’the hospital in the dead’ a night, Ethel. Now hush, I’m in heavy traffic.”

Dogs are smart. I can bet they are smarter than some people. Have you ever seen dogs cross the road? They wait patiently with the crowd as if they know that red is a signal of a danger and green is a permission to go. Trust me, many people can’t tell the difference. They run a red light. Alone. In groups. With kids. I hate it the most when they run against the red signal with kids. Kids should not suffer because of their parents’ stupidity.

Alice blinked away a deceitful tear and closed her laptop.
An e-mail. Just an e-mail.
She curled up in her bed.
Breathe in. Breathe out. In. Out. In. Out.
It can’t be true, she thought.
But it was. She opened the laptop. Read again.
“…liked your manuscript… ready to discuss…”
It was real. She smiled.

Jenny rolled over and over in her bed, muttering in sleep, moaning and groaning. It lasted for another hour till she finally woke up. It seemed like those few hours of sleep took its toll on her. Her pale face witnessed the agitation she felt. Was it because of the dream she just had or the latest happenings in her life, she could hardly explain. All she knew was that at no cost she wanted to get back to the world of her tumultuous dreams.

She left the bed, put on a dressing-gown and went to the kitchen. She believed the cup of coffee would pick her up and bring her back to senses. But it didn’t happen. Instead, for a few minutes Jenny was lost in thoughts and then burst out laughing.

“One bottle, two bottle, three bottle,” Andy counted examining unfamiliar labels.

“Bottles.” Miley corrected.

“What?”

“Three bottles. Plural,” she explained without looking at him. She just had taken up plurals at school.

She came to that café every day. Three years. Three long years. Thirty-six months. One thousand ninety-five days. Or one thousand ninety-six if she included today. She came there every single day. Be it rain or snow she still came. In joy or sorrow, crying or smiling she would still come. She would come even on doomsday if she had to. Preferably alone. She loved being around people but going to this place was something which belonged to her only. And she would not change it for anything in the …