I held him as he died. He died in my arms, and that left a scar. It's not a physical scar, persay, but it's plain as the epitaph in the granite at my feet to anyone who sees me. I slouch over this scar, it's carved into me in the form of my overall demeanor.
But that really isn't important. It's how it came to this. It's how I'm covered in dirt, I'm torn up, and I'm bleeding. It's how the physical scars come into place, that's important. It's how I have to hide my face in my own town, as if I'm some nameless Romeo in some post-Tybalt Verona. My sunglasses and head-scarf cover my face and hair, and I'm just some bloodied woman walking around, everyone here's too uptight to say anything to the strange drifter. To get close enough to recognize me.
It's been a long time since this town's seen Andromeda Thompson, and if things go my way, they won't knowingly see her for an even longer time.
This city's like a ghost town to me. It's just as busy as it ever was, but to me, it lacks depth. The bustling town center means nothing anymore. The busy high school sits, not missing me. The towering Performing Arts Center looms, the only landmark in this godforsaken town. I've got memories of living here, in Rivulet, but they seem so distant. It's like reaching out to touch something that isn't there. I don't think I ever truly lived here.
I don't think I'll ever truly live again.
I glance behind me and the Rivulet City Non-Denominational Church catches my eye, and suddenly my mind is getting ready to go to that church, exactly one year, sixteen days, and fourteen hours ago.
