There is a crack in that ceiling. It’s a small crack, the size of my pinky finger, a hairline crack. I don’t know how it got there, I don’t know when either. I noticed it just the other day; I don’t know how I have never seen it before. It’s kind of nice actually, comforting I guess. Just to know something is watching over me, even if it is, just a crack. I bought some plaster on my way home from school today. I was going to cover it up, but I think I kind of like it now. The plaster was seven dollars and eighty-four cents, I might return it.


“May I come in,” my mother always has the sweetest voice when she wants to talk about something, it reminds me of tulips, even though her name is Rose, her voice sounds like tulips, the pink kind especially. “Honey, I think we need to talk.”

“Yeah, come in,” I could tell she was serious; she always wore a hat when she was serious, and today it was the white wicker one with a blue bow around the rim. I couldn’t help but notice she looked older, I could see the lines around her mouth and eye brows, I felt bad for thinking this way about my own mother, I would never tell her any of these thoughts, and she would never know but I still felt bad.

“How was school today?” she asked with a weary smile, her lips were the same shade of red as always, it was a comforting color, she wore it well, not many people can pull of such a fantastic shade of red. I imagined two microscopic men pushing the corners of her mouth upward, forcing her into a half smile, just the thought of miniature people controlling your body was always interesting to me. They must have to be strong men forcing this smile, but even the strongest men could not conceal her true emotions, the left side fell back into a flat line first and soon after the right side did as well, leaving her mouth at a perfectly flat configuration. She was still waiting for my answer about my day, I had completely forgot, this whole time I was thinking about tiny people forcing her to smile.

“It was good.” There was a long pause before she spoke again, she was looking at me, and I was looking at that crack in the wall. I’m assuming she was trying to figure me out, I’m not sure why, I cant even figure myself out.

“That’s good sweet heart.” I was waiting for this ‘talk’ to begin, I just wanted to get it over and done with, this was always the worst part about these talks, the waiting for the talk to begin, the anticipation, what was this talk really about, it could be anything actually.

A few more minutes went by, I’m not exactly sure how many but i'm certain it was a few. The longer I stared at that crack in my ceiling the more interested in it I got. Where has that crack even come from? I’m glad I decided not to cover it up though; at least this crack gives me something to distract myself with. By approximately minute seven I thought she was going to speak, I say approximately because I didn’t have a clock in my room, I really should get a clock. Minute ten she even opened her mouth, but no words came out. Most of these talks weren’t even talks, they consisted of silence mostly, very few words are exchanged, but still, she always calls them talks, its quite ironic.

The soft sound of tires on gravel came from outside my window. I could tell it was my dad’s car by the low grumble, an early sign of a deteriorating transmition, he says. I’m actually not entirely sure was a transmition is, I think it might have something to do with the motor, he’s told me about a million times and I always nod like I understand, but I never do. I find myself doing that a lot lately. My mother jolted up from the mattress but the bed stayed as still as ever. She walked straight out the door, pausing ever so slightly in the frame, I thought she would say something to me, perhaps finish our talk, but she just kept walking straight out of my bedroom. Her signature fragrance seemed to linger in my room, the sweet smell of Windex and dish soap. My father came into my room, it surprised me, but it did not startle me, I don’t startle easily.

“Get some sleep Sarrah,” he looked concerned, I'm not sure why but I could tell in his eyes he was thinking deeply about something.



I found a penny on my way home from school today. It’s was tails side up so I flipped it over for someone else.


There’s just something about the rain, it makes you think, not about anything in particular, it just makes you think. I find i've been thinking a lot lately, especially when it’s raining. I didn’t even notice the giant puddle in front of my stairs, probably because I was thinking. It soaked through my shoes and into my socks in seconds, its okay though; I'm not too fond of these shoes anyways. They’re red shoes with white laces but they’re not quite sneakers, just shoes. My mother encouraged me to get them, she said red was the most confident color and wearing red shoes would give me confidence in my walk. I don’t believe that very much, she was a smart woman but these shoes certainly do not make my walk any better. Then again she was a confident lady, and her lipstick was always red, maybe the color confidence trick only works on lipstick, I ought to buy myself some lipstick.

The door handle was cold; it was metal so it intensified whatever temperature was around it. I turned the knob but it was locked, it was always locked; yet I always tried to open it without the key. I dug my key out of my pocket, I thought it was in my left pocket, but it was in my right pocket. I could have sworn I put it in my left pocket. I turned the key clockwise and then halfway counter clockwise and the lock clicked open. I remember the first time I got my key; I could not get the lock to open. My mother came home a few hours later and saw me slumped up on the front stoop, she asked what happened to me and when I told her my key was broken she laughed so hard I thought she was going to stop breathing. It wasn’t a mean laugh though, I don’t think she could have a mean laugh if she tried, she had one of those laughs that made everyone laugh, most of the time they didn’t hear the joke but they were laughing because she was laughing.

I always like the welcome matt, it was on of my favorite parts of my house. It was an old matt but I think that’s what made it better. It used to be a royal blue color, the kind of blue the sky is in the middle of summer, its more of a gray now, I guess over time the dirt and the sun faded it, but the welcome on it remained the same black as always. I guess there is really no different shade of black, black is just black and that’s all. My shoes left imprints in the old faded matt, they were soaking wet, I bet you I could ring them out if I tried and fill a whole cup with water. I didn’t try though, I just kicked them off and they bounced off the wall. I took my socks off also and layed them next to my heap of shoes. My socks never matched, I don’t know where they always went off to but I can never keep a pair of socks together.

“Ma im home!” I projected as I ran up the stairs. Its not like I was in a rush for anything, sometimes I just feel like I should run up the stairs, so I do.

“How was school today?” she asked in her pleasant tone, there was a different hat on today. It was the same color red as her lips, how did she always find the perfect colors, I cant even match my socks together.

“It was good I guess, I had a math test, I think I did okay,” I really hated algebra, I know I failed that test, just like all the rest of them but she didn’t need to know that.

“That’s good dear,” she seemed preoccupied, I don’t know with what but I didn’t ask, I thought about asking but then I figured if she wanted me to know she would have told me. I went up the stairs to my room, I didn’t run up these ones though, I didn’t feel like it this time.

I have a typewriter in my room. Not a lot of people use typewriters but I prefer it, I like sound the keys make, it kind of sounds like rain now that I think of it. It’s a wooden typewriter, I rescued it from a garage sale when I was eleven, and it was probably the best two dollars I have ever spent.



It was raining today. It was the big kind of raindrops, the ones that soak you no matter how long you’re out there for. I got my shoes wet in a puddle, I set them out to dry, they were the ones you like, the red ones with white laces.


I pulled the paper out of the typewriter. I hate wasting a whole sheet on such a short note but I did anyways, I wonder how many trees I've used up. I folded it into thirds and fumbled around my drawer for more envelopes. I placed the letter inside. I wonder who figured out folding paper in thirds would make it fit so perfectly.

I love the way the glue on the envelope makes my tongue dry, it’s a strange taste, but I think I like it. I guess that’s strange, most people at school hate it, but I love it. Its weird to think about how many envelopes I had sealed for other people, you don’t usually think about who seals the envelope you receive, I guess we just assume its was sealed by the sender. What a strange thought to have.

I signed the envelope with my full name, Sarrah Lily Fischer, I always liked my name, my mother wanted my to have a unique name but also a family name so she decided to put an extra r in it. I always thought that was such a creative idea, who would have thought to put an extra r.

“Ill be back before dinner!” I said as I slammed the door behind me, I didn’t mean to slam it on purpose; it’s just a heavy door. I changed my shoes into boots now, they’re black boots and they are especially useful in rain, they are made with mostly rubber so the water cannot penetrate it, this way I could think freely and not have to worry about puddles, not that I usually worry about puddles, puddles are a silly thing to worry about.

I walked through the gates of the old graveyard, they were low fences made of wood, most of them had pieces missing, I wonder why they were there anyways.
I knew this place like the back of my hand, I've been coming here since I was ten, pretty soon I’m going to be seventeen, I guess you learn a lot in seven years. I walked right up to the shiniest stone in the whole place. It’s red, a beautiful red. It was the kind of red that you couldn’t help but stare at, it is lipstick red. I knelt down in front of this beautiful stone, it sure wasn’t the biggest one but it was the best. I sat there in silence, the rain had stopped by now but there was mud all around the stone, this just made the red contrast more, it was truly a wonderful sight.

I had to unzip my coat slightly to reach my inside pocket, I always put the envelope in my inside pocket, it was the only pocket big enough to fit a whole envelope without creasing it. I placed the envelope on the driest part of the earth and I put a small rock on top to ensure it would not blow away. I'm not sure where all the letters go; I must have written thousands of letters by now. I'm not sure where they end up, but I'm almost positive she gets them; I like to keep her updated. I lingered at the grave a few moments longer and then I got up onto my feet. I walked right up to the stone, I wonder if the person who engraved this stone had thought about it what they were engraving, they probably didn’t, its just a job to them, I bet this was they’re twentieth stone in one day that they carved, but as I trace the letters with my fingers I like to think that they did the same. “Beloved mother and wife” I wonder how many times this mystery engraver wrote that, I wonder how many bright red headstones he has carved, I hope this was his first red one. My favorite part of the engravings to trace was her name, what a beautiful name, Rose Marie Fischer.