Dinner plates accompany each chair, ready for dinner. Past the kitchen, thick fur blankets and quilts drape haphazardly on the couch and recliner. Nature has begun to reclaim the house with the spiders spinning their webs in cracks and corners. Branches have grown through open windows, bringing in leaves and feathers. A swallow leaves her nest and flies to the window, startling him. What happened to them? He thinks. Something’s wrong. Why would they leave like this? This isn’t like them. Mom knows what happened, she has to! Leah, where did you go?708Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnCiuZKKdVP
He falls to the ground, tears welling up in his eyes. Days of frustration explode in his mind as he tries one final time to remember what happened to the family. His eyes shut and he concentrates on something, anything, that could help him. He gets nothing. He’s been defeated.708Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ98cb61bGlu
708Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyM7A0uSdCN
After a while, the boy picks himself back up, continuing to investigate the house. He passes by the living room and walks up a story of creaky wooden steps leading him upstairs. The second story consists of a narrow, white walled hallway with two rooms: Leah’s bedroom and a small crawl space. At the end of the hallway, there’s a window that overlooks a valley enveloped by evergreen trees. Zak remembers one day when they played tic tac toe on the window using dry erase markers. When Leah’s mom saw them, she was furious. Her words still ring in his head.708Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrRt2nNxYwl
“What’s wrong with you two? Is paper too boring for you?” she scowled.708Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡL3HoB2rKdf
“Mom, it’s just dry erase marker,” Leah tried to convince her, “see?” She puts her hand up to the glass, trying to wipe off the game. When it doesn’t come off, she tries harder.708Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDRptf0IdX3
She grunts, “I don’t know why it’s not coming off!” She wipes harder, panicking.708Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeCAs2kXRsJ
Her mother laughs lightly, setting her daughter off guard.708Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsKjl7oSqtH
“What?” her daughter asks, tears beginning to fall from her eyes.708Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDmVop1vvuG
“Don’t cry, my girl,” her mother picks up the marker, “did you look at the label when you took it?” The girl shakes her head no. “It’s permanent marker, not dry erase.”708Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsbMt3pNA38
Leah blushes, “but it doesn’t say sharpie on it!”708Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRm1T4zAD9x
Her mother laughs again, “Sharpie isn’t the only company allowed to make permanent markers. Geez, you would think two twelve year olds would be able to tell the difference between a dry erase and permanent marker!”708Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡX7mTQiI8Za
Daisy starts to giggle, “Sorry mom.”708Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAzqPMPJpNh
The memory fades. 708Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡu6N32Bg2Vm
Zak glances at the stained window smiling. Caught in a trance, he opens the door to Leah’s room. Nostalgia floods him as he sees her bed, tousled like she always left it. Her drawings are taped to the walls with scotch tape, dangling or fallen off. The glare of glass catches his eye. The boy reaches to her nightstand and finds a family picture. It was Leah as a baby, her green eyes are sparkling and there isn’t a hair on her head. Holding her is a much younger version of her mother. Her wrinkles are gone, her hair was short then. The man standing next to them makes his heart drop. He has black hair that’s cropped short and a smile that displays his perfect white teeth. On his face are eyes that are dark and unreachable. Dad? 708Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsj2elML6D4
Adrenaline sets in, flushing his veins. No. No. No. Something’s wrong. This can’t be him. Oh no, I need to get back and ask about this. I need to know what’s going on now!708Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8eGdHul8UH
Breathless, he flies down the stairs. Before he knows it, he’s bringing up his kickstand and thundering down the street like never before. His mind is racing with the tires. Faster, and faster, and faster. His rusty bike groans in protest with his pedalling; gravel crunches under his tires at a frenzied pace. He has to get there faster. He’s looking forward, toward the house. The boy is riding so fast that he doesn’t notice the pothole about to swallow his front tire. He doesn’t have time to scream out before he’s airborne. His leg hits the road first; then his head. He closes his eyes. His mind opens.708Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPQJ7Y3eeBf
708Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡE0slwoHNh0
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