Mac Vs PC: Infected

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I wish him [Bill Gates] the best, I really do. I just think he and Microsoft are a bit narrow. He'd be a broader guy if he had dropped acid once or gone off to an ashram when he was younger.

-Steve Job (Macintosh & Apple)

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Through the night, something plagued Piper. She couldn't fall into the deep slumber that her body ached for; instead she tossed and turned. Legs wrestled with sheets, arms struggled with feathered pillows, her heart slammed against her chest as she tries to chase sleep. Heat seeped through her windows, scratching its scorching claws against her bare skin. The grandfather clock in the hallway outside of her room sang three short notes as Piper began to gasp for air.

Her hands clinched her dark sheets, the satin ruffled underneath her sweaty palms as her body bowed up in alarm. Her dark hair plastered against her scared pale face; her eyes opened searching wildly, searching for a danger hidden in the darkness. Even with the heat, she yanked the covers up to the bottom of her chin as if the blue comforter would block the danger, the dreams, and the nightmare.

Tilting her head, she glanced at her nightstand where her photos sat undisturbed from the panic Piper endured. The light from the moon illuminated parts of Casey's freckled face and Piper's scowl. A simple time in middle school when life consisted of laughter, ignorance and naiveté. Next to her past sat a family portrait of both her and Mackenzie's family. It was during the summer weeks before the accident that caused his mother's long line of surgeries and multi-organ failure. His mother, Pam Tosh, stood in the middle her arms wrapped around Mackenzie and Piper. Her smile was just as wide as her face; her dark skin emphasized her presence. She was just as gorgeous in appearance as in spirit. Her free-spirited aura was evident in the still with multicolored feathers braided into her loose hair.

A long wail came from Piper, a sound of unbridled sadness emerged in agony. It wafted on top of the heat, ridding out the wave as Piper's face turned into her pillow. Her mouth open, the sound muted.

"She was my mother too." Saturated in throbbing heartache, the whisper melted to nothing in the heat. The connection she felt with her mother was just as strong as the one with Mackenzie's mother. Pam was at every game with Piper's mother; she yelled and cheered as loud as anyone in the audience. She gave her the birds and the bees talk when Piper's mother wanted to believe that Piper wasn't ready for it. Pam knew Piper as well as Piper knew herself.

"Don't tell my son. He isn't good with forgiveness." It wasn't the loss of her game that affected Piper; it was the sick and broken voice of Pamela Tosh minutes before her death. The bed side confession that Piper harbored changed her. Her façade was breaking, crumbling at her feet in shattered pieces. The secret she kept from Mackenzie, from her mother, from everyone heated her cold exterior, causing her to melt.

Maybe that was why she couldn't have Mackenzie so close, she thought as she reached for the framed photograph. Her guilt was already poisoning her. She promised to keep quiet, but every time she saw the grief in her mother's eyes she wanted to explain everything. A promise is a promise, no matter how painful it was to keep.

Slowly her door squeaked open; her mother's face peeked through the thin gap. "Piper? Honey?"

Piper remained silent, playing as if she were sleeping. Unhurriedly her mother walked to the side of her bed. She pushed her daughter's hair from her face and placed a small kiss on her forehead. "You don't have to be so strong. It's okay."

Piper pressed her face deeper into her plush blue pillow to a point where her air was cut off. If only her mother knew.

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