I came here to get away for a short time. From the yelling of my parents, the crying of my baby brother, and the teasing of my little sister. Nothing in particular catches my attention. I wander, distracted among stone plaques, each representing a life and a death. The carved letters mean no more to me than the scribbler of a bored student.

After awhile I begin to get annoyed with the presumptuous air of the stones. A few speak about as personally as the dirt around them, suggesting a forgotten life, and unmourned-for death. Some tower high, polished and ornate, competitive even in death. Others lounge beside them, basking in simplicity, murmuring in proud, hushed tones, "Here we stand. Here we have stood. Here we always will stand" Still I wander unimpressed, feeling superior in my role as one who has not yet lost her life.

Lost in a corner behind a dark marble monument, a small stone catches my eye. Its rough, unpolished surface doesn't reflect my face as some of the others do. No fancy decorations, no dates, no message to God clutter it. All that lies on the surface, half covered in consuming moss, is one small word, a name,Lisbeth. In the instant that I read the two syllables my clambering family, my aggravation at the hubris of the graves, and my boastful assurance of life over death, all disappear. This stone fills me with questions about Lisbeth, making me intensely curious about her life and death. This stone makes me the intruder in a foreign kingdom, makes me understand that life is not always the champion over death. As I look around, it is I who is the shadow, I who sees a world I may not, cannot, participate in.n