The house was as dark and silent as the grave in which she slept, I put my souvenir in a tiny bit of water, but it was too late the beauty of the rose...had already faded, it withered much has she had, their lifetimes spent. Carefully I pressed the petals between two books, I wondered to myself why people insist on doing this, how could a person’s life be remembered by a dead, dried out flower? I poured myself a hit of whiskey and flipped on the TV, not to watch, but to drown out the deafening. Nervously checking her watch repeatedly throughout the night, Ellie decided at 11:30 it was about time to head home. At the same time she went out the front door, I exited through the back and walked around to watch her from the shadows of his house, not quite sure what I was going to do. She unlocked the door of her red SunFire, paused for a moment, and stood up outside it. Frantically she looked through her purse. “Shit,” I heard her whisper to herself, and she ran back inside. Seeing my. More

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