After the funeral, Carolyn Lyons pretty much left her daughter Grace and her brother Pete to care for themselves. She would smoke regularly and started to stay out drinking until late in the evening. No longer would Grace call her to ask if she could sleep at her friends house, and the only reason she came home the next day was because of the one person who cared about her.
" Morning Pete," She called.
There was no answer.
"Pete?" She said, silently stepping into the kitchen. The lights flickered on.
An audible sigh of relief left her lips. Everything was in it's place, and on the counter was a note explaining that Pete had found a job constructing an apartment building in a small town an hour away. He would visit then on weekends, and told mom not to worry about him.
At the last sentence, Grace started to laugh. Her brother was sweet, she would give him that, but he still believed that their mother would notice his disappearance.
After making coffee for her mom, she left it by her bed with a note explaining how she was sorry, but she didn't want to be late again for work.
Grace hurried into the building, camera by her side. She was a journalist, which was not just her job, but also her biggest passion.Grace had studied photography, creative writing, computer programming, and HTML; some of the key things for journalists. But today just wasn't her day. Each word that she typed was a mistake, spelled wrong, and the tapping of keys around her was like being sentenced to all of eternity stuck rewriting the same paragraph. The writer's block was moving in, just like those storm clouds she'd heard about on the news five minutes earlier. Or was it five hours.
Grace shook her head, attempting to stop the blurring objects that were slowly starting to spin faster and faster, almost like she was a three year old on the tilt-a-whirl, screaming happily as the adrenaline rush filled her veins, except this time, little Gracie was older, and silently screaming in pure terror.
" Gracie, Gracie," Whispered Kathy, the woman who sat next to Grace, one of those people who put too much sugar in their fancy teas, those teas sitting in their fancy mugs, the costly ones that were just oh so fancily imported from some exotic, and very fancy country.
" Grace, can you hear me?" Grace blinked, as Kathy waved her hand in front of Grace's eyes.
" Right sorry, I've been spacing again, haven't I?" Grace sighed, and standing up she decided to get a breath of fresh air.
Stepping carefully she made her way down the stairs, worrying that each step would disappear underneath her feet and she would be left hanging, suspended.
But nothing of the sort happened, and as soon as Grace stepped outside, her thoughts cleared, and as she sat down, the air changed. The sun seemed to dim, and bumps ran down her spine as a cool voice whispered in her ear:
" You aren't left hanging little puppet. The show's just starting."
