I woke up today with the same plan as yesterday: Brush my teeth, take a shower, feed Mr. Galliard, my goldfish, get a quick bite to eat, go to school, go to Mom’s and eat dinner, and go to bed. It was the same every day, except the weekends and holidays. On those days, I would spend the whole day with Mom.

Today was different. When I came back from school, I saw dad sitting on the patio. He usually sat there when something bad happened. I looked questioningly at him. I was standing on our front yard when I saw my father sitting down on the patio, crying. I slowly walked up to him. I dropped my bag close enough for him to hear. My skirt flew upwards as the cool breeze whispered in my ear. “Go away.” It seemed to say. “Go away.” It whispered again. I looked up at the sky to find a rare gray cloud towering our little home. “Dad.” I said quietly. “Dad, what’s wrong?” I asked.

He seemed to ignore me. He was acting like I wasn’t even there. His head was being held by his palms, and his wavy, brown hair covered his forehead.

A yellow taxi car veered in our driveway. A woman wearing a long, fur coat, black heels, and a black dress. Her hair was silky and smooth as the wind swept it off her shoulders. I could see her eyes, fearful and saddened. It was my mother. She had been crying. I could tell because her mascara was scattered all over her face. She gave the taxi driver his money and ran up the stairs, right past me.

I could see the trees behind her, all lowering towards her giving her condolences. The birds all flew above her, singing their songs of sorrow. It was fall. It was a cold day today and the seemed to be hiding because it didn’t want to show itself crying. The rain seemed to be waiting until she got to shelter before it began to cry. “Go away.” The wind whispered to me once more.

“Mom. What’s wrong?” My mother ran to my dad, who got up to embrace her. My mom’s hugs were contagious. Once you got a sample of them, you wanted more. They were like ice-cream on a hot summer’s day; like hot chocolate on that cold winter’s day. The days you dreaded going out, but went out anyways, just to get a whiff of her warmth.


My features were provoked. As I turned to look at my dad, I could see my reflection on the glass. My face was bruised and swollen. I lifted by hands to feel my face, but they, too, were disfigured. They were cut and reddened. My clothes were tainted with blood and my white gold shirt had been torn at the side. My hair was tangled and messy. My golden-brown skin was rough and eager to have cocoa butter put on it. I giggled to myself silently. I reminded myself of Ronald McDonald. I had the red nose and everything.

I looked at my parents, still tightly wrapped around each other. I really wanted to be in the middle of it all. My dad’s eyes were hard like stone. His beard was like a prickly meadow of cacti. His expression could probably scare off a terrorist, or the devil himself.

A policeman came near. He took off his hat and gave my dad a letter. “I am sorry for your loss Sir. She was a good kid.” The man was a bit sturdy and round in stature. He looked like a watermelon, short and round. His cheeks were rosy and his mustache twitched.

A raven flew nearby. It planted its feet on the handrail and looked at me with its deep, black eyes. “Tweet. To Eat.” It seemed to beg. “Tweet. To eat.” It said once more. “Go away.” The wind blew heavily this time, yelling at me.

Suddenly I remembered what happened that afternoon. As I was crossing the street to my mother’s car, a Septa bus had hit me. I was in a hurry to show my mom my report card of straight “A’s”. I only looked one way while crossing the street and the Septa bus was driving in the opposite direction. It rushed towards me and I had no time to run. All I did was gulp and smile.

Only one thing was on my mind at the moment. Dean Hamilton. He was the guy that all the girls in class wish they had. He had asked me out once, when we were in tour Freshman year of High School. I told him that I was too busy with school and needed a break from dating. Now he’s going out with Stacy Keenan, the captain of the cheerleading squad. I remembered the way his eyes shuffled when I said that. He looked like a baby who just go this rattle taken away.

I remembered how that very same raven had flown by. It had caught my attention before I crossed the street. It looked at me with the same deep, black eyes as it did now. “Tweet. To eat.” It had called to me.

Tears ran down my face. I rushed over to my parents and smiled. I gave them a big hug, but my body went right through theirs. “Mom, Dad!” I shouted, hoping the could hear me. Mom was still sobbing, but dad still had his hard face on. He was looking right at me. I gulped silently.

Suddenly a bright light enclosed the area. It was coming from the raven. My parents didn’t seem to mind it, or even notice it. It was like a door, except it shone like the sun. “Go away.” The wind blew once more. This time more calming. I tilted my head. Something or someone was calling my name. “Heidi.” It said soothingly. A force pushed me towards it.

I knew what was happening. It was my time to leave. This world didn’t need me any longer. Besides, I was already dead. “Heidi.” The raven called once more. All that I had accomplished would go down the drain. Tumbling to the tombs. Goodbye Dean. Goodbye Mom. Goodbye Dad. The light drew in closer and swallowed me in. Goodbye.