The heart is the most deceptive organ of the body. Trisha Stallman learned that the hard way.

It was a brisk day, the kind of day that made you zip up your coat and jam your hands deep within the fur lined pockets. There was no rain, but the dismal clouds made Trisha feel as though the sky were an imprisoning cage. Like cruel slave masters, the clouds kept the people of Seattle, Washington in check, and indoors. As if any slight misdemeanor might result in a merciless flooding.

Trisha was used to this kind of weather. Unlike the tourists who were struggling to get into heated places fast enough, Trisha prowled the streets at a leisurely place. The street was her domain, it had been ever since she was a child. She was dressed in a pink wind breaker with red lining, and was carrying her bestickered schoolbag in one hand, and a worn skate board in the other. She had a helmet, but she had left it at school. Trisha wasn’t going to let something like that stop her… when she wanted to ride, she was going to ride. It was the only place where no one thought she was crazy.

Trisha was very tall, with legs so notably long that her cousins fondly called her “Giraffe.” Her skin was the color of oak, and light powdered cinnamon. Her eyes were a striking blue that was both deep and adventuresome. Her hair short hair, which was dyed many different colors, was tied into a short ponytail.

She began to ride along, performing a 180 degree spin. She felt the first drops of soft rain fall on her hair, soaking her scalp. Time to go in soon, she thought.

“Trisha?” a strange, yet strangely familiar voice crooned.

“Yeah?” she looked up reluctantly, only to find a strange boy standing across from her.

“You are about to get hurt.” He said, not threateningly… simply matter-of-factly.

“Right… Sure…” she replied, sure that this was just another one of those nuts.

“I would stop you, but if I did you’d never believe that I am who I am.” He continued, his voice soft, and melodious.

“Uhuh.” She muttered, this was purely for his benefit, as she was already tuning him out, listening to her favorite radio songs in her head, while attempting a perfect flip.

“In three.. two… one..” the boy counted- and sure enough, just as Trisha began her flip, the tip of her board got stuck in the gutter, and she fell into a puddle, feeling dizzy and confused.

“How- How do you know who I am?” she stammered with resolve. Trisha would get answers- she always did. You just had to know how to deal with these people.

“Why- I am surprised,” he said, clearly mocking me, “Even past the boundaries of time and space, I was sure your gift would tell you who I am! How exactly does one forget her own husband?”

That was the day that Trisha met her husband, the man with whom she shared that fatal kiss- when a man said, as the stars surrounded them, “You may now kiss the bride.”

Stay tuned for Part 2