In her eyes were the look of death.  Her pupils tinted gray with a still shine of darkness.  Death.  Not dying.  Not even death.  Dead.  There was pain in dead, being dead.  A tortured state.  She read the torture, and the pain in the dead bear's eyes, moving closer to the animal, the shadow of her head hanging directly over the back legs of the female.  Her stare focused in the stare of the dead flesh.  In her tenth day, she could finally hear what the elder grizzly was saying.  Dead was tortured pain.  Until there was no more sight, breath having already been depleted, there would be pain.  After all, the dead grizzly could still see.  She appeared almost as if she was trapped inside the dull glare of her eyes, locked away inside the corner most parts of the wasting away of flesh, and bone.  It was not until around the seventeenth day that she began to see freedom for the bear.  The animal had become a half desolate space, the back of the grizzly having dissolved into the sound of the earth.  The bones remained behind showing onlookers that there had once been something of importance, but that it had long since passed away.  Not even the worms, maggots, and flies remained behind to watch the finish of nature on its unkempt, unclean situation.

        The face of the dead female remained above ground, but basically a skeleton.  The entire head was one solid bone appearing hollow on the inside from where she stood.  There seemed to be no connection from the skull to the spine, and front legs, and shoulders.  The matted black fur scattered about as frost in the catch of the brownish grass stalks.  It had become fascination to see herself, when her fate would drown through the brief stages of time, and death; a young flower sprouted from a bud, step by step, day by day.  She had watched the stages of dead.  Not death, but dead.  The bones of the black grizzly were the only things left that told of history of a specific existence.  Freedom.  And that history would continue on.  And so she had watched until even the skeleton faded into the mouth of the ground.  Not really vanishing.  Maybe hiding under the dirt when the wind blew. 

        The white grizzly smelled the only thing that remained behind through the twenty-one days of cleansing.  The skull had an outdoor musk to it unlike what she had expected, the smell of blood, and the swine of spoiled flesh.  The cool fresh of dirt, and sunshine filled her nostrils from the hard chalky object.  She noticed that the plants that surrounded the body that had withered away were now in the very first stages of new growth, the tiny stalks of root jutting through the soft dirt.  The huge crystals telling her that this part of the earth was fertile for what every wanted to grow.  That time had seemed so long ago, but she had done it.  She had finally saw it for herself.  Once she was to finally lay down as the past elders had done, she would stay laid down.  And she would wither away into the earth which she walked upon everyday.  And she would be trapped until the last of everything about her was gone.  Her broad shoulders struck through the forceful resistance of the bushes that sprouted from the banks of the gray oaks.  The sound of the waterfall greeted her, sounding pleasant to her ears, relaxing ton the notes of food, warmth, shelter, and more food.  This was going to be fun.

        Book II

        No t.v.  Other children watched television.  Cartoons; the real funny ones that he heard about.  The ones that laughed, and smiled, and showed children being young.

        No video games.  Other children played, and spent their money on hours of arcade fun.  That really made him sick.  

        No sports.  Lisa played baseball.  His dad played basketball.  The other children at school played soccer, and football.  They rode skate boards, and brought bicycles.  It went on, and on.

        No eating by himself.  No going outside by himself.  No catching the school bus by himself.  The other children went to the swimming pool by themselves.  Not Zulu.  And he was older.  He had just turned ten, older than every every child on his block, bigger than most children older than him in the entire neighborhood.  Funny, he didn't feel handicap. He heard no signs that said he was.  Nobody told him he was except for maybe a few doctors.  No.  Zulu was alright.  And his blindness confirmed it.  No driving the car.  He laughed at the thought even though he was too young to drive.  They still told him no.

        "No, Zulu.  You can't do that.  I have to do it for you."

        "No, Zulu.  You can't go there by yourself.I have to go there with you."

        "No. Zulu.  You can't dress yourself.  I have to dress you," especially those hot summer days when the sun burned through the walls.

        "I'm going outside today," he would tell himself, early in the morning he would tell himself, parents still sleep, knowing he had to ask.

        "No, Zulu.  I have to come with you," the sun hot, and shining, but no longer burning through the walls.

        "I can't do nothing by myself," he would mumble in disgust, his hands feeling across the wall for the exit to his parent's room.

        "No, Zulu."

        "No, Zulu."

        "No, Zulu."  In the house, his name had become a bad echo.

        "No, Zulu."

        "No, Zulu."

        "But think of all the things you can do, Zu," the chubby fat girl not really paying attention to the facial expression of her cousin.  Her name was Lisa.  Three years older than her cousin Zulu, making her thirteen; apart of the family.  She was a girl.  She was a girl who was Black.  Many times when climbing down the rope of the tree top house, she would blend in with the brown of the of the tree.  A Brown girl who we are calling Black is what she was.

        Yet, Lisa was greater than that of her skin color.  The reason we call her a girl first is because Lisa was way bigger than anyone remotely close to her age.  You could be a fifteen year old tenth grader or an eight year old trouble maker; boy or girl, you would still probably only come to Lisa's chin.  Only on the tips of his toes could Zulu actually stand shoulder to shoulder with his cousin.  Many times he would strain the tips of his feet to feel the shoulder to shoulder height of himself with his cousin.  And from what he understood about himself, he was pretty big, making the imagination of his cousin's description as a giant.  She was able to reach the closet shelf without a chair, at least that's what she told him.  She was able to touch the shower head without jumping in the tub, which was always dangerous.  Lisa could always see or feel the hiding spaces for the cookies that his parents didn't want him to eat at just any time.

        "The cookies will spoil your appetite," they would always say.  Zulu would simply call his cousin over, and in a manner of minutes, she would find them behind the bread on top of the refrigerator, or on the top shelf inside the refrigerator behind the eggs.

        "Your parents are going to start to have to find better hiding spots, Zu.  This is too easy. Finding hidden stuff is supposed to be fun," Zulu gargling through the smack of cookies.

        "I/m blind, remember.  They could hide it in my mouth, and I still wouldn't find them."  The joke was funny.

        "Your blindness don't mean nothing, Zu."  She was serious.No doubt from the fact that if they got caught, she would receive the brunt of the punishment.  After all, how could a blind child find hidden cookies.  Plus, Lisa's dad was a monster when it came to punishment, and timeout, and go get the switch, and time to take your butt home.  Out of the entire family, his uncle's punishment were the worst.  The extreme worst.  One time he had caught Zulu peeing on in the backyard, making him literally lay in the pee, timing him for twenty seconds.  Making him then go take a shower, and finally spanking him for a good six or seven minutes.  No one, outside of his father, and mother, took sympathy on him because of his blindness, and most definitely not his uncle.  When it came to discipline, as his uncle put it, Zulu was a man, including his butt.

        .  .  .  . She had been in the bathroom for a full, whole thirty minutes.  And now there wasn't any noise coming from just behind the bathroom door.  Zulu bounced up, and down as if the floor was hot.  He most definitely did not want to wake his uncle.  He could hear that awful screeching snore from down the hallway into his ears. 

        Zulu paused in thought, he was glad he didn't have to sleep with his uncle.  "Come on, Lisa."  Zulu could hear the whispered snickers in the bathroom.  She was laughing.

        "I can hear you.  Let me in."  Zulu squeezed his legs tight together, touching, and locking his knees, pulling on the middle of his pants to relieve the pressure.  It was not working, the sensation building to the point where he felt he pee in the hallway.

        "I can't wait no longer, Lisa.  Open the door."  Zulu's silence became muffled by his uncle's snoring backed by the laughter of his cousin from inside the bathroom.  "Fine then," having no idea what the words actually meant.  Something he heard his uncle say every time he got mad, and he was definitely mad.  And the house, as big as it was, had only one bathroom.

        Zulu scampered down the hall, feet and pants tangling over one another.  In his uncle's house, he didn't really need his staff, learning how to play with lust his hands, and feet.  And he had truly learned.  Twelve stitches; compliments of the back porch steps.  Broken arm; compliments of the jungle gym bunk beds.  Countless black eyes, busted lips, and nose bleeds; compliments of everything else in the five bedroom, one bathroom, kitchen, living room, basement, and dinning room.  So, he had no time to run all the way down to the basement to come back up the stairs to fight his way through the back yard to the trees.  He figured he might actually pee in the basement.  How he felt, that wasn't a bad idea.  Knowing the final outcome of that decision would a confrontation with his uncle.  Maybe even his auntie would get involved.  He could put the blame on Lisa.  That actually wasn't a bad idea, but no time to think.  He would have to save that plan for a more dangerous time.  Plus, he didn't want to disrespect his uncle's house, something his uncle claimed granddaddy always did using foul language in front of him, and Lisa.  But you know granddaddy.  He did't care about nothing, but his two grandchildren.  

        Zulu's hands grabbed the corner of the kitchen entrance.  A few more steps to the right, he had memorized, and the back door would be in reaching distance.  He could hear the bathroom toilet flush again, waiting to see if maybe the bathroom door would open.  No.  Just silence.  Zulu felt like he would bust.  He had made it to the back kitchen door with only slight difficulty.  Darn.  The door was locked.  He thumbed for the knob to unlock the solid wood.  This was the first time this had every happen to him.  Zulu could feel the tiny knob that unlocked the door, turning the knob quickly.  The steel bolt slid back in an unlocked position.  The grass was just on the other side of the door.  He would hurry through the yard until he bumped into a tree or bush.  He hoped that no one say him, saving him from humiliation.

        The door opened easily.  The windy breeze took Zulu's mind from the urgency of his urinating outdoors, but only for a second, the heat from the sun striking him in the face.  With no shoes or socks or staff, Zulu jumped through the kitchen backdoor, catching himself in the grass.  So far so good.  The grass was soft under his feet, only his uncle's snoring followed him out the house.  In his mind, besides the annoying reminder that his peeing on himself was eminent, the backyard was open, and quiet.  The grass, squealing under the fast pace of his feet, seemed to go on for miles.  Zulu could begin to feel the uncontrollable urine sensation  mixed with the feeling that he maybe he had released a couple of drops of urine down his leg.  He belly bottom began to knot.  He was not going to make it to a tree or bush or some type space that would hide.  To try would risk the embarrassment of him peeing on himself.  And whether any one saw him or not, didn't matter.  He would see.  And he was ten; ten, and half to be correct.  His mental discipline could not take such a blow.

        "Zulu peed on himself," thinking of the consequences, and the after; too devastating.

        Stopping suddenly, fumbling with his pants zipper, Zulu began to pee in the wide open backyard, hoping he wasn't peeing on his cousin's sneakers.  That was both funny, and not so funny.  More funny though.

        The silence of the backyard was accompanied with the draining sound of urine splashing in the grass, and dirt.  Zulu felt the tension from his belly, and bottom ease up.  He was losing that uncontrollable sensation.  And he was almost done.  He hoped no one was watching him, or that he was by something that was possibly blocking or distracting his lewd behavior.  Well, not lewd.  More of an improvised act.

        Zulu began to relax in his motion, the sun striking him directly in the face.  He could feel his face become heated.  "That was .  .  .  ."

        "Boy, what are you doing peeing on my grill!"

        ".  .  .  . close."  The word 'close' sounding in his mind through the roar of his uncle, followed by the repetition of the word his uncle had said.

        "Grill, grill, grill, grill," trying to understand exactly what a grill was, why his uncle had said he was peeing on the grill, and .  .  .  . Zulu's thoughts catching up with the embarrassment of his actions.

        He was peeing on his uncle's grill, he thought, reaching out with both hands to the touch of what felt like old metal.  He could picture the rest of the cooking tool in his head, his private parts still exposed in the outside backyard.  Feeling the trickery of the stalk grass with his feet, they laughed.

        "Liar," he told himself, talking to the grass.  The peeing stopped.

        He thought again.  Out of all the space in the backyard, he had chosen to pee on his uncle's grill.  This was probably going to be painful.  He didn't even have time to put his privates up, and zip his pants, the rapture of the leather strap belt whipped across the skin of his legs.  It didn't really hurt.  More of a stinging sensation, hoping he wouldn't get any drips of pee on his clothes.  Those the little drops of pee that like to hide until you pull, and zip your pants.  The second blow from the belt landing on his bottom, knocking down his pants around his legs.  That hurt a little.  And what was worse was that his bottom was now showing through the thin cloth of his underwear.  The belt strap continued to fly.    

        "I'm alright," Zulu told Lisa., both of them on punishment, and sitting in opposite corners of the room.  

        "It didn't hurt," rubbing over the soreness in his backside as his grandmother called it, wondering where she was.  Probably somewhere with her new car with granddaddy, complaining about gas mileage or slow speed limit signs.

        "It looked like it hurt, Zu."  Lisa slid her feet back, and forth on the small rug.  That always felt good barefooted, he thought, mad he had been stuck in the corner without the rug.  "Especially when your pants fell down, and your underwear starting showing."  Both children started laughing.

        "Shut up all that noise in there!"  The boom came through the wall as if it were invisible, Zulu and Lisa becoming quiet.  Zulu from the attack of the belt, Lisa from the call of more trouble, and punishment.  Lisa broke through the silence first.  Zulu couldn't see her.  He was supposed to be able to see her.  There was only darkness.  He was blind.  Lisa whispered through the room.

        "He just mad because you peed on his grill."  They giggled quietly, but inside Zulu cried.  He was still blind.  The giggling continued.

        The tears mixed in with the blood; very few tears at first, a lot of blood.  Not depression.  Not paranoia, just not knowing why.  Just not knowing why her.  The complexity of the spiral unraveling questions that dominated her thoughts.  Endless in originating.  Continual, the hellfire that existed in her mind.  Why not somebody else?  Why not somebody else that was not her?  She didn't understand why her.

        "I don't understand why me?"  The words seemed to develop just in the front of her face barely touching the moisture of her lips. 

        "Why me?!"  Vanity was screaming.  Her mind was screaming.  She was vulnerable.  Her tormentor; inexorable.  The front of the brain pushing against the solid bone of the skull.  She had regained total feeling in her entire body.  Her legs.  Her waist.  Her chest.  Her feet.  A certain warmth covered her, flowing through her interior being.  Every part of her was alive.  She felt she was free.  The warmth gave her hope,  She was going to be able to leave.  Vanity was leaving.  She was going to walk away, and walk away from the horrific terror that she had endured with no concept of time; the pulse of her thoughts, and the simple of blood that extended itself from the thump of the necklace. 

        "Thump.  Thump.  Thump.  Thump."  Vanity had been in the solid of the great oak forever, in her lifetime.  And the warmth made her walk away.  Words could not describe to forget or to remember, defining itself with substance and energies of action.  And the warmth washed it away.  No more.  She was free now, and she would always be free.  There was the illusion of thought that occasionally tinted the pupils of the eyes burning away as the sudden feel in her toes reinforced with the hot that came from the drip of blood.  The level of the pool of blood rising to just above the tops of the toes where they began to separate individually.  And it was hot.  Hot to the sensitivity of her feet.  The muscles tightened on the sides of her legs.  No.  Vanity was not free, the solid oak surrounding her.  Her movements in round cage causing a splash at her feet.  She could feel the blood motion, the thick crawling up and down her feet.  It did not concern her that she was losing blood.  What seemed more of importance at the time was that Vanity was waking up.  And she was free, caged up, not going anywhere.  The tears mixed in with the blood; a lot of tears, a lot of blood. 

        For some reason Vanity felt not only naked, though she was totally in the nude, but exposed under the facial stare of the blind child as if the great oak was not covering her completely.  Maybe at a certain angle her breast showed where Zulu could see them.  Maybe the tops of her thighs peeked around the oak with the beauty of her eyes, all under the light of the moon.  The young girl's chubby bottom appearing perfectly rounded, and shaped with the design of her surroundings.  The oak tree.  The amber.  The thorn bushes.  The grass.  The dirt.  They were all naked.  So everything was everything, and nothing made sense.  Zulu continued in his blind stare.  He could see.  Well, his ears could making him able to see.  There was definitely something out there.  He could hear, and feel the nervous excitement of fear tickle in the center of his chest.  It was dark, it was night, he was by himself, and there was something out there.  

        Both palms continued to hug the tree.  Vision squeezed the oak believing the pressure with her hands would hide her better.  She needed her clothes, eyeing the dirty bundles of cloth that lay on top of the underground root.  Breathing easy, at least her sandals were clean, she thought.  But she still had to get there from her hiding place, wanting to be unnoticed by the young child .  .  .  .

            "So," the beautiful dark colored girl yelled over the small gang of children gathered together in a crowded circle.  She stood on the outside of the circle yet they were all together.  She stood facing the gathering of crowded faces.  She was talking to all of them.  Rather yelling at them to shut up.  They were listening yet talking amongst themselves.  

        "And I bet you can't even see your toes."

        "Ouuuuuuuuuu!!!"  The young crowd of teenagers hissed over the physical beauty of Vision's presence.

        "That was mean," a high pitched voice rang out from in the middle of the crowd.  Whoever the concerned voice belonged to were by themselves as the other children laughed.  

        "Shut up, Hightop."

        "Be quiet, loudmouth."

        "He likes Vision.  He likes Vision," the whiny taunting intermingling with the teasing laughter.

        "Ahh, be quiet.  It was just really mean.  Can't you see she about to cry?"  Vision had long ago blocked out the crowd of vampires, and snakes, and rats that she went to school with.  A sick sadness from within that she constantly carried with her whenever the animals came around.

        "She wouldn't cry if she wasn't so big."

        "Yeah, I heard being fat makes you cry.  It's physical or something."  The voices appeared as hurt against her ears.  For some reason, she had already long ago walked away, or was not there yet.  She couldn't move or didn't move or didn't care.  The tears poured heavy down her face, splashing against the exposure of her toes that showed from the new sandals her daddy had brought for her.  Yes, Vision was beautiful.  But around animals that yet to evolve, she was sick, and she cried.  She didn't care.  Here was just as good a place to cry as anywhere else.  Besides, animals didn't understand, and couldn't explain.  Or they were not really there in front of her.  They were invisible to their physical presence.  Or Vision had long ago walked away.

        "You so stupid."  This voice belonged to a girl.  "Being fat doesn't make you cry.  Being fat keeps you from crying because the fat squeezes up tight the skin.  The only reason she crying now is because we helping her exercise.  The entire crowd of young children laughed.  Vision could still hear the laughter as she rounded the corner across the street, behind the candy store into the rough air of the woods.  She wanted to be left alone.  That's all. Just to be alone.  

        "That was mean," the voice said again from the crowded circle of children.  It was dark, and they were children.  

        "You so stupid," another voice rang out again.  It was a girl, and it was the last word.  "You so stupid." 

        So Vision didn't really fit in.  The dirt from the dry road covering the tears that lay damp on her toes, making sure not to scuffle her new sandals.  She loved her dad, looking down at the dirt on her feet, the colors of leather that smiled on her feet.  And she hated them.  She was not fat is what she told herself.  To keep her spirits up, she had to tell herself that.  She was maybe just a little chubby.  

        She thought about being a little chubby.  The thought seemed to sink into her shoulders.  The dirt, and the dust began into the growth of old grass.  The grass was dry, crunching underneath her new sandals.  From where she walked, Vision could see the infinite rows of trees that led into the mouth of the mountaintops.  How could people be so cruel in a world created with so much beauty, coming to the edge of the land where the old dried grass turned into new stalks of green that stood at attention.  They looked hard, and brittle, but under the touch of the young girl, soft, and for some reason, moist.  Beyond the touch of the grass, the earth dropped steep into the beginning formations of the forest.  The trees would provide her mind with peace.  

        Vision eyed the steep drop of ground, noticing that it was more of a hill she was standing on that appeared to grow into a mountain.  She turned around to stare at the long, desolate, dirt road, unaware that she was alone or even walking.  She had been in a rage dazed.  Depression.  Anger.  Frustration.  Vision played the characteristics straight through, sadness finally forming in her mind.  Yes, sadness.  It was faint, but she could still see it; the old corner store that looked of an old wooden coffin.  The only one of its kind in a big town that had been there longer than the name of the town itself.  Because of the distance, the heat from the sun seemed to hide the store in the exhaust of the air as nothing.  The far distant glance of people.  The childish laughter, and humiliation sounding out in her head, turning back to eye the hilly climb down which led into the peace of the forest.  

        "So, I don't care," Vision said out loud to nobody who was listening, tugging on the bottom of her shirt to fit loosely around her belly.  "I don't care," she said again, beginning her climb.  "I hope I don't fall," she thought, smiling silently as if she was about to begin a new adventure.  Only the trees heard her.

        He heard the awful screeching first.  It appeared at a distinct point out of the air, picking up in speed in sound, surrounding his head.  The sound was noise in nature from the originating source.  He knew a lot, but this sound he had never heard before.  

        "Zulu."  It was a whisper that sounded loud like the noise that rang out in his ear.  "Zulu.  Wake up.  Wake up.  I got something to tell you."  Zulu felt the sudden nudge on his shoulder waking him to the comfort of his bed.  

        "I'm awake.  I'm awake," the young child exclaimed, stretching his arms.  "What's that awful screeching noise?"  His question went unanswered.  Lisa shifted her position on the bed causing the bounce of the mattress.  Her feet dangled, swinging back and forth, seemingly miles from the grip of the floor.  The dark colored rug defining her feet.  

        "You know I love you."  All he could do was listen to the voice of his cousin.  How he wanted to see her, and not the darkness that vibrated with her speech.  The screeching noise paralleled with the sound of his cousin's voice. 

        "I know that, cuz.  I know that.  But what's that awful sounding noise?"  Again there was silence.  Lisa, and Zulu both paused to listen.

        "I forgot to tell you, Zu.  The train crashed."

        "The train crashed?"  Zulu rose quickly in the bed, the covers falling from his sleeping position.  It had only been a dream.  Funny how his dreams were also only just voices.  His blindness did more than follow, and trap him.  His blindness was him.  How can one be blind in there dreams?

        The young child fell back in his bed.  So what he was blind, he could think.  The possibilities endless how he thought in spite of himself.  But there was nothing that would help him what he wanted to do.  Life. 

        Vision heard her dad first, and then she heard the sound of the train.  The noise made her skin crawl underneath her shirt.  She loved her dad's old shirts.  How she could hide herself up under them.  Even though her face, and legs still showed, she felt the shirt covered her completely, stretching her arms up over her head.  She could hear the sound of the train more clearly now.  It was loud, sounding in both ears.  It continued as a ring in her head.  She hoped she wouldn't carry it with her downstairs to the kitchen table, jumping from the bed onto the wood floor, the early morning cold numbing her toes.  The shirt had a clown's face on it, the bottom seams of cloth brushing up against her legs.  Inside the shirt she was small, the reflecting mirror unable to penetrate the protective covering of cloth.  Her body was safe from the mirror, from the noisy eyes of the mirror that saw, and heard everything on the outside, where she liked to stay.  She was looking for peace on the outside having already found peace on the inside.  Many times the mirror would lead her astray, down a path of thorns, and stones.  The mirror reflection in the store windows; a path of laughter, and mockery.  A path of pain.  Her body just didn't curve right was the best language she could use to describe the distorted figure in each reflection.  Only her bedroom mirror resembled closest to how she thought she ought to look, climbing out the shirt from the loop of the head opening.  The shirt re-positioned itself around her ankles.  Vision stared at her naked flesh.  She felt beautiful, naked.  But she looked, not disgusting, just not complete. 

        Her belly overlapped where her waist should be.  Her sides curved in, and out of proportion with her shoulders.  Only her breast, and legs approved favor in the mirror.  It was her belly that created the frown, and the fact that she always had to ask approval from a mirror.

        Vision pressed down on her toes, lifting herself from the floor.  Her toes supporting her balance, the muscle strain reflected in the mirror.  She noticed the distinction of her legs.  They had grown bigger, perfect with her thighs.  Vision eased back herself back down onto her toes, her balance catching on her heels. 

        "It was just a mirror," she told herself, kicking the shirt in the corner, the sound of the train becoming more of a nuisance of noise.  The noisy vibration turned into a screech, following Vision's eyes around the look of the room.  Where was it coming from?  Her dad called from downstairs again, his voice appearing low under the high pitch.  She stood still.  The mirror appeared to move in the room, capturing her movements.  She noticed she was losing her breath.  In, and out.  In, and out.  A slow death.  The constant screech keeping her from falling to her knees.  She was standing by her ears only.  

        Vision looked back into the face of the mirror.  Something wasn't right.  Something was wrong with her body, really wrong.  She seemed bigger than usual, turning her back to the mirror to eye again the shape of her hips, waist, and butt.  The chubby girl moved back, and forth in the reflection to show a better image of herself.  Yes.  It had seemed in just a few seconds that she had put on more weight.

        She couldn't lose weight even when she wasn't eating, she thought, sucking her teeth.  "Wait.  Wait a minute.," turning to turn everything in the room in a spin.  The room stopped abruptly in the fixed position of the mirror.  The slim length body mirror lay slanted against the wall that connected to the bedroom bathroom.

        Vision ran from the pull of the bed, face up into the vertical stance of her reflection.  She was completely onto of herself now.  Her image appearing so close that it wanted to break the glass cage that contained it.  She picked the frame of the mirror up, propping it more straight against the beam of the wall.  The frame appeared to stand by itself, backing away slowly.  The breath from her mouth tinted cool the surface of the reflective glass.  That too dimmed slowly, slow until the cool breath disappeared .  .  .  . page continue