that  some  people  preferred  estelle's  company  to  hers  was  never  something  that  bothered  helena.    maybe  lianna  lotse  could  sense  what  helena  tried  to  hide  :  how  very  imperfect  she  was  in  every  aspect.  but  being  true  to  oneself  didn't  stop  lianna  from  dying,  did  it  ?  the  bitter  thought  wells  up  in  helena's  mind.  nothing  to  stop  her  from  thinking  it  except  the  private  shame  that  accompanies  the  sting  of  anger.  even  now,  after  death,  she  can't  be  honest  with  the  other.  “  'scuse  me.  ”  she  says  politely  instead,  eyes  locked  onto  a  corner  instead  of  lianna's  features.  small  talk,  to  anyone  else,  would  have  come  easy  as  breathing.  when  faced  with  someone  who  should  have  been  buried,  she  felt  like  an  awkward  tween  again,  scared  of  public  speaking.  “  have  to  go  take  care  of  this  mess.  ”  she  waves  over  her  hair.  “  maybe  get  some  gossip  out  of  the  way.  ”

perhaps the point of life is to look when you want to flinch away and close your eyes. perhaps that is what it means to be alive. ''oh, of course,'' lianna says, canting her head to the side as she takes a step back, giving way to helena. they say that isolation is a kind of death; if no one is there to witness your existence then you are not really there. so then why won't they look? why can't they bear to witness her presence? ''it's a small town. i wonder what sort of gossip awaits. does anything interesting even happen these days?'' but does it, does it truly? she tells it like a joke that the younger ought to laugh at, but tell her, tell her please, what she fails to see.

a  short  puff  of  a  sigh  from  casper's  lips  as  he  unceremoniously  lowers  his  body  onto  the  concrete  curb.  there's  a  lingering  throb  concentrated  behind  both  temples.  an  ongoing  ache  he  can't  subside  with  ibuprofen,  caffeine,  calories  or  sleep.  the  past  few  weeks  have  melded  into  a  blur  of  time  and  space,  the  ability  to  recount  his  exact  whereabouts  only a  haze.  however, the  feeling  all  together  different  than  the  swirl  of  his  brain  after  days  of  sleepless  nights  coding  through  a  particular  tough  work  sprint.  was  he  getting  sick  ?  there  was  no  time  for  that  in  his  schedule. "  oh  sorry  ...  am  i  in  your  way  ?  "  eyes  fixating  on  the  figure  approaching,  "  i  thought  i'd  be  out  of  the  way  here.  "

it's hard, of course, to pinpoint what exactly feels wrong; maybe it's her presence that sticks out like an extra finger on a slender hand, or perhaps she is just too persistent, too loud and out-spoken for someone who ought to be a ghost. so she finds comfort elsewhere, a brief moment's reprieve just outside the church, as her sight almost blurs. ''no, not at all. don't worry. the air inside just felt very vitiated,'' stale. perhaps the better term for it would be strange, but that would be impossible to smell. she takes a step forward then, moving on instinct, her thoughts merging like water droplets on glass during heavy rainfall. ''are you all right? do you need anything?''

♱　　despite  having  lived  in  marrow  her  whole  life,  phoebe  looks  around  the  potluck  and  sees  too  many  strangers.  of  course,  there  was  father  romero  and  the  entourage  that  came  along  with  him  three  weeks  ago,  but  there  were  those  who  used  to  be  familiar,  those  she  used  to  know  but  now  feel  more  like  foreigners  than  people  she  grew  up  surrounded  by.  still,  phoebe  joins  in  on  the  camaraderie,  forcing  a  smile  as  she  shows  up  in  her  best  outfit  and  freshly  baked  cookies,  determined  to  be  undettered  by  her  uneasy  gut.  “  they're  lemon  crinkles,  ”  phoebe  says  when  someone  so  much  as  stares  into  the  tupperware.  “  you  should  try  one.  tell  me  what  you  think.  ”

''oh,'' is the first thing that escapes from her dry mouth, soft and round, unfurling like a ball of precious yarn. ''i'm not really hungry nor in the mood for something sweet,'' which is only a half-lie, well-thought out, but still a lie. that's what makes it so easy to tell, but her refusal to comply, lianna fears, will only bring forth more damage than good. forced to think on her feet, she lets a weary smile accompany her weighted words. ''they look amazing, though. i might have to take one before i leave. did you bake them ?''

tanaya beatty