Fried Windows: In a Light White Sauce

By Elgon Williams

In the tradition of Asimov, Heinlein, H.G. Wells, and Lewis Carroll; Elgon Williams has created a universe where imagination rules and reality is not what it seems.

Leave your world behind and enter an adventure forever lost but never forgotten. Where only magic is real, and anything is possible.

When Brent Woods, a middle-aged c

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pandamoon Publishing
• Release date: May 27, 2014
• ISBN: 9780990338932

Elgon Williams

Elgon Williams is a Global Publicist and Author currently living in Central Florida. He has worked in Retail Management for much of his adult life, but also has experience in Computer Repair, Technology Consulting, Advertising, Public Relations and Sales Management. Born in Springfield, Ohio, Williams grew up on a farm near the town of South Charleston and the village of Selma in rural southeastern Clark County, "...about two miles from nowhere and between cornfields." He graduated from Shawnee High School in 1974. In the fall of that year he began studies at Purdue University in West Lafayette, Indiana, receiving a BA in Mass Communication in 1978. Later, in 1981 he received a degree in Marketing Administration from The University of Texas in Austin. In 1983 he joined the US Air Force and attended the Defense Language Institute at the Presidio of Monterey in California where he studied Chinese Mandarin. Upon completion of military training he spent two years in Asia. Shortly after returning to the US, Williams left the military and began a long career in management. Although his early writing is considered sci-fi and fantasy, it is difficult to classify his work as any single genre. His most recent publications, Fried Windows (In a Light White Sauce) and Becoming Thuperman, blend urban fantasy and science fiction. Upcoming projects include Homer Underby, the sequel to Becoming Thuperman, Castles of Nija Bread, sequel to Fried Windows and the first installment of the long anticipated epic fantasy, Wolfcats. All books will be released through Pandamoon Publishing.

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Table of Contents

Title page

Copyright

Dedication

Thoughts

1 The Problem Delivery

2 The Unusual Mrs. Fields

3 The Fall Out

4 Uncertain Music

5 Returning To Mrs. Fields

6 On My Day

7 Riding Seahorses and Dragonflies

8 Places Shadows Hide

9 Intrusion and Interruption Reality’s Twins

10 On Wings To Sky Arch

11 Bringing Color To The Blankness

12 Talking Shop

13 The Book Of Everything About Anything

14 The Beasties Of After Midnight

15 Where Lies Conceal Truth

16 Approaching Forever

17 Pieces Of The Puzzle

18 Of Sense And Nonsense

19 At A Distance

20 Changing Minds

21 Faeries Of Boot

22 Tranquility Pool

23 Fate of the Rimwalkers

24 A Piece Of The Foundation

25 A Half-Breed Heritage

26 Expected Disappointment

27 To The Place Of No Return

28 Doubtful And Hopeless

29 Loose Ends

30 Wallowing In the Illusion

31 The Wolfmaster

32 The Matter Of Lucy

33 Rensheng Ru Yi Meng

Pandamoon

About the Author

Fried Windows 

(In A Light White Sauce)

By Elgon Williams

© 2014 by Elgon Williams

All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Pandamoon Publishing. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

www.pandamoonpublishing.com

Jacket design and illustrations © Pandamoon Publishing.

Pandamoon Publishing and the portrayal of a panda and a moon are registered trademarks of Pandamoon Publishing.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

ISBN-10: 990338932

ISBN-13: 978-0-9903389-3-2

First Edition, 2014

To my children: Rob, Amanda, and Sarah

Imagination gives us our dreams.

1

The Problem Delivery

Mrs. Fields’s twisted directions were just that—twisted. I couldn’t figure them out. There was a computer system to deliver, and the schedule was tight. There was nothing new about that. My frustration and sense of urgency rose as none of the directions on the paper made sense. The street names were real but how could reality be bent to fit these convoluted directions?

Three days before, Mrs. Fields popped in to the computer store where I worked looking for a computer system. There was no salesperson available to help her, so she went to the tech shop where I worked in the store and asked me. Fine. She said she needed delivery and set up, and since that would likely be me anyway, I figured I could take a little break from what I was doing.

She was a chunky, elderly lady about five-foot nothing with short cropped hair that sort of looked silver and sort of looked white depending on how the light hit it. At six-foot two, I towered over her. 

After spending an hour showing her systems and asking her questions I determined she wasn’t at all savvy and mostly incapable of talking coherently. That became very clear when giving me directions to her house. She didn’t know her exact address. 

You can’t possibly miss it, dearie, she assured me as she jotted down the directions. It’s the only place out that way. 

So, I let it go. I thought I’d find the road she lived on and it would be the only house, just like she said.

After scrabbling with those directions for nearly an hour and still being lost, my options narrowed to one. Driving to an area that I thought was at least close, I looked for a letter carrier. One was parked at the side of the street, just before the edge of downtown, enjoying his lunch. I wished I had time to enjoy lunch. I had lost ten pounds in the two weeks of non-stop deliveries during a special promotion. Being built mostly like a scarecrow, it wasn’t like I had the weight to spare. Anyway, I apologized for interrupting the man’s lunch. Then, I asked for help deciphering the cryptic directions.

Oh—oh, yes, Mrs. Fields, he said. This was good; I was making headway. Apparently, he recognized not only the name, but also seemed to know the lady as well. I was sure I’d be receiving precise directions any moment now.

Am I getting close at least?

No closer than you were to begin with. You see if you’re here, you’re still lost. I used to deliver mail to her, he explained. 

I listened patiently even though panic was starting to seep in. At least he knew where she lived, so I kept listening. The letter carrier fancied himself a storyteller, though, and finally, I had to interrupt him.

I’m sorry, but I have a lot of things to do today. All I need is for you to point me in the right direction. What’s confusing is that she told me to drive to the edge of downtown and then up the hill. This is the only hill I know of. I mean, I’ve only lived here for a few years but I haven’t seen any other hills around, not in this part of Florida, anyway.

This is the only hill in town, he confirmed.

And the directions say, just before I reached the hilltop, make a U-turn and look for a street on the right. When I find it, turn left, not the first left but the second left, and take the more crooked road of the two.

Yes, and you drive straight down that road, he said with a laugh. She’s telling you exactly how she gets there, obviously. That’s how she drives.

Straight down a crooked road?

Yes, precisely, he confirmed. She gave you the right directions. The second road is crooked, but it is the most direct way to get to her house. I think that’s what she meant by ‘straight’.

Okay. Glancing down at the directions, I tried for a little more clarity. She says to look for a farmhouse where there is no barn. It has a large front door and a small front porch but no windows.

Yep, that’s her place. That’s it to a ‘T’.

She lives in a house with no windows?

Well, as I understand it, there was a tough season a while back. The crops were not up to expectations and money was hard to come by.

What does that have to do with why there are no windows in the house? Did she have to sell them?

No. According to her, she actually ate‘em.

Did I misunderstand? She ate the windows?

Fried‘em up and served them in a light white sauce, he said and then laughed. That’s what she told me, anyway.

That’s crazy!

Before you pass judgment, get to know Mrs. Fields. She’s a gem. She has a story to tell everyone and anyone, but the story she tells is always intended just for you.

I really don’t have the time to . . .

You should make the time, Brent, he said, stealing my name with a brief glance at my name badge. It’d be well worth the effort. Just have an open mind—a wide-open mind. She has a rare gift, but you really gotta wanna receive it.

And she eats windows?

Well, I don’t know that for a fact. It’s what she told me, though. Maybe she wanted to make me laugh. Her sense of humor is a little bizarre. Still, the fact remains that her house has no windows. Once you get to know her, none of that will bother you as much as it does now. Trust me on that. You’ll never look at the world in the same way.

If that’s intended as a sales pitch, it’s not working.

Hey, you make your own decisions, guy, he said. Do you think you can find it now?

I’ll give it a shot, I guess. My confidence was at an all time low.

When you feel like you’re lost you’re probably getting close. Drive until the glare of the afternoon sun is so bad that it blinds you. Pull over to the side of the road and look through the haze, and you’ll be there.

You’re as crazy as she is.

He laughed. Like you’re not?

Well, I have my doubts some times. Everyone does.

You think everyone’s crazy. In fact, mostly we are. We differ by degrees, I suppose. But this is truth, my friend. If you want to learn something different, you can’t keep looking in the same place and expect to find anything but what you already know. If you think about it, being crazy isn’t such a bad place to start when you need some novelty in your life.

I have enough trouble dealing with the things the way they are. I’m certain I don’t want to learn anything from a lady who eats windows and gives strange directions to her house.

Look, others don’t measure up to your expectations and they probably never will. But that’s okay because you don’t measure up to their standards either. So why judge anybody? Once you get past judging others, amazing things can happen, he said with a wink.

It doesn’t make sense.

Of course it doesn’t. Look, people like to think they’re being logical. And logic can be useful in understanding some things. But it can also restrict you from going places and finding what you’re looking for. That’s what I learned from Mrs. Fields.

You speak as if she was your teacher.

Mentor is a better word. Here’s the fact. I used to be frustrated. My job is important and I get that. People depend on the prompt delivery of their mail. But I was upset because I always wanted to be something else. Never in my wildest, youthful dreams did I think that when I grew-up, I’d fight in a strange foreign war that we couldn’t win, and afterwards, I’d end up delivering the mail in some sleepy little coastal town in Florida. I was going to be a police officer, a fire fighter, a cowboy, or one of the astronauts they shoot into space from the Cape—you know, a real hero, somebody others look up to. Then, after I connected with Mrs. Fields, I understood that everything I ever desired was still inside of me from when I was a kid. The little things I do everyday make me a hero to someone and that’s probably as good as it gets most of the time—at least on this side of reality. She told me that as I grew older, I misplaced some dreams. That’s all. They were still there. It’s just—other things got put in front of them. Priorities, you know? If your mind is open to all possibilities, you can find the dreams you lost. When you do, you’ll be forever young where it counts. He tapped his index finger to his temple for emphasis.

Staring at him as much as he stared back at me, one of us was waiting for some sort of sign, I guess. But if he was waiting for me to get his point, that wasn’t about to happen. He saw me shrug, so he nodded, and turned the key to start his jeep. There was nothing else he needed to say to me. What did he really care if I understood or believed? If I found the house—fine. Otherwise, I’d just continue being as lost as I ever was.

After he pulled away, I watched him continuing on up the street to the base of the hill. I didn’t know exactly what to do. I got back in my delivery truck, pulled out onto the street, and took my best shot at following Mrs. Fields’s peculiar directions. I drove up the hill, and close to the top, I made a U-turn and came back downhill, looking for the street on the right. Then, I turned left on the second of two streets. At first, it appeared to be the straighter of the two, but when my choice proved to be a crooked road, I felt better about it. Maybe this was the right way. I imagined arriving soon, setting up the computer, and going on to my next delivery. My kids might actually see their father for once and receive some help with their homework.

The road meandered without any logic. The ground was tabletop flat, mostly free of obstruction, or contour. There was no apparent reason for the original planners to create such a crooked course. At one point, the road split into two lanes to avoid a stand of several towering palm trees around a large stone monument. Obviously, the monument had some significance to force the road builders to surround it.

Driving for a fairly long time without result, my confidence dwindled again. Could Mrs. Fields have forgotten to mention some key landmark or turn in her directions? She didn’t seem like she was all there, after all. Had I driven past the house? Then, I wondered how anybody could not notice a house with no windows.

Maybe I should turn back. Exasperated, I pulled over to the side of the road and looked down at the paper with the warped directions. When I looked up from my clipboard, the glare from the afternoon sun struck my eyes. Shading them with my hand so I could see, inexplicably, there it was. Through the afternoon haze, directly ahead of where I pulled over to the side of the road, was a house surrounded by fields of tall grass gently swaying in the breeze. It had a massive front door and tiny porch but absolutely no windows.

My heart jumped. Tentatively, I opened the truck door, telling myself this didn’t make any sense. Why hadn’t I seen the house while driving? Seeing it now conjured up all sorts of intimidating and frightening possibilities and explanations. Most of those worried me.

Back to the matter at hand, I had to deliver a computer system and set it up in a house with no windows. That was all that mattered. I stepped out onto the pavement, crossed the road, and marched up to the front door. Already running way behind schedule, I intended to ring the bell, knock, yell, or use any other means available to communicate my presence. Having spent too much time finding the place, I was determined to wrap up this delivery as quickly as possible and be on my way to the next customer.

As I reached for the large brass doorknocker that adorned the front door, there was rustling in the bushes to my right. Distracted, I turned without bothering to knock. There before me on the ground below the lip of the porch a petite young lady was picking flowers. I walked to the edge of the porch where I got a better look at her. When she looked up at me with eyes that seemed to sparkle and change colors, her smile made me feel at ease.

For whatever reason, when I first noticed her, I thought she might be a child. But as she appeared to be in her late teens or early twenties with shoulder-length, auburn hair, fair skin with a few freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose, I decided she had a natural sort of cuteness the defied showing her age. She was pretty, not needing any cosmetic amendment. She wore loose fitting work clothes, a tee shirt that came down to mid thigh, and jeans that were rolled up to her knees. The overall effect made her look even thinner. 

Hello there, I said. I’m here to . . .

I know. And it’s wonderful to see you again, she replied with her bright, perfect smile that dazzled me as much as her eyes.

Again? I asked.

There should never be a first time for anything, so that there’ll never need to be a last, especially when saying hello. This time, you’re from that computer place, right?

Uh, yes, Digital World HQ.

That’s the one. Strawb asked me to wait here for your arrival. And so, while I was waiting here, I thought I’d tend to the flowerbeds and pick some fresh flowers to take inside the house. Aren’t they pretty? She held up the bouquet she’d assembled. Strawb’s waiting for you in the backyard.

Who is Strawb?

Mrs. Fields, the young lady said with some impatience. You really have forgotten much, she said as she hopped up onto the porch, proving that my estimation of her height was actually generous, as she came up to about my chest. 

She looked up into my eyes. You know, of course, Mrs. Fields is not her real name. If you recall, that was what Johnny and Paul started calling her. She rather liked it, as well as the fine story behind the name, so it stuck, she explained as if she really expected me to recall.

I hope you remember me, at least.

Somehow, I didn’t want to disappoint her, but I had to confess as I shook my head, I—don’t recall us having ever met.

It’s such a pity. We were always such famous friends. I’m Lucy, she offered with her biggest smile yet, as her eyes reflected the blue of the sky and reminded me of gemstones twinkling in the light.

Brent, I gave her my name, as I pointed to my nametag. I accepted her delicate hand and we shook.

Brent, among other names. Lucy laughed. Strawb said you were very nice to her at the store, but she warned me that you didn’t recognize her. That happens sometimes when we pretend too hard to be who we’re not.

I’m nice to everyone, I guess. I mean I try to be, I said. I try not to pretend.

It’s good you’re nice, but it’s a shame you don’t pretend. Why, pretending is the best way to play, I think.

I’m really sorry but I have no recollection of ever having met either of you, other than talking to Mrs. Fields in the store, of course.

Well, I’m sure you’ll remember everything, eventually. It’s rare to my experience that anyone doesn’t remember once they are here and the confusion settles. The best times are always within reach, if you allow them to return. The way to see things most clearly is to close your eyes. But everyone is in such a hurry, and afraid to look away for even a moment because they think they might miss something, when all they might miss is more distractions.

Maybe you have a point, there.

Oh. I know I’m right about that. Her eyes continued to invite me to explore their depths, probing me in the process as if she was waiting for a sudden flash of remembrance. Then she sighed. Strawb said you took the time and patiently asked all the right questions. She felt comfortably confident that you recommended the right solution, even if you forgot about her—about us and all this, she made a sweeping gesture with her arm. That’s why she requested that you make the delivery personally. She was hoping to return your kindness with the gift of reconnection so that maybe we could help you, and you could help us in the process.

I’d be glad to help. But what is this reconnection?

With your past and your imagination, of course.

My past is forgettable and my imagination is just fine.

Maybe that’s the case. But I’ll bet you try too hard to ignore both. The past is as unavoidable as the future, and imagination is something that if you don’t use it you lose it.

Like a foreign language.

It’s nothing like a foreign language at all. If it seems to be, then that’s part of your problem. She shook her head. Try not to be difficult, please.

Look, it was a fluke that I was selling computers last Sunday. I usually don’t sell them. I just make deliveries and repair them when they break.

Well, we are all the more grateful for your efforts, then.

The store depends on repeat business, and referrals, of course. I try to satisfy every customer.

Then, you must be very successful.

We do okay.

What about you, personally?

I do okay, too.

If it’s just okay, then you aren’t properly rewarded for your efforts.

Do you know where Mrs. Fields wants the computer set up? I was growing impatient and it was getting later by the moment.

Where else would she want it? In the backyard.

The backyard?

It’s where everyone comes to play, now isn’t it? The computer is intended for the children, all of them, but especially Haim. So it needs to be there.

I strongly recommend against setting up a computer outdoors. It’s a highly complicated electronic device that will not appreciate getting wet when it rains.

Okay, Lucy said. Hmmm, well then, I suppose we’ll just have to make do without rain, at least where the computer is.

What?

Come, I’ll show you the way, Lucy said.

Let me get the hand-truck and bring the computer with me. I’m on a tight schedule.

I’ll put these flowers in a vase and I’ll meet you back here.

By the time I loaded up all the boxes containing the computer components, Lucy was waiting for me at the front corner of the house. As I walked toward her, she came to the edge of the road to meet me. She pointed the way to a tall shadow-box wood fence and an open gate at the side of the house that she’d left open for us.

Once inside, the fenced-in yard seemed an immense parcel of real estate. And yet, everything there appeared designed for amusement. A huge playground with two sandboxes, multiple swing sets with spiral slides, places to climb, benches to sit for resting, and tables for children to sit and eat snacks, or have lunch. Around the perimeter and outside the fence were several tall trees with their branches extended over the playground, though they didn’t appear to be giving much shade for the time of day. It reminded me more of a public park than the backyard of a residence.

Are you in the daycare business? I asked, making small talk as I carefully carted the boxes over the grass, holding one hand on the stack to keep them from sliding or falling off.

Daycare? What is that? Lucy asked.

The amusements, they’re for children aren’t they?

Oh, those. Yes, this is a place for the young, but not necessarily just kids. Youth is an attitude as much as a perspective. Everyone who comes is youthful but not necessarily a child.

But it’s a playground, right?

We all play here, yes. Deep inside, everyone is a five-year-old or six tops. That’s the age we’re intended to be. Everything is marvelous and amusing to us then. Nothing about the world is boring. We discover and invent. We imagine and create. When we are five or six, we are connected to everything around us but also innocent and willing to discover everything about anything, aren’t we?

I guess so. I mean, sometimes I think about when I was a kid, I admitted.

Good, then you haven’t lost your way, you just need directions to get back on course.

About that, I almost didn’t find this place.

Until you did, and that’s all that matters. Now we’re here, together again. So, relax, be yourself, and be happy you made it back. She twirled around as if inspired to dance.

As attractive as that thought might be, we still live in the real world.

Well, if you like the real world, you can have it. It’s a choice you make. Here we choose not to be miserable.

I’m not miserable. I leaned against the handle of the hand truck as I temporarily parked it at the back corner of the house, waiting for further directions.

If you’re in the real world and say you’re not miserable, then you’re deceiving yourself, Lucy said. Anyone who is not here is lost.

Well, I’m not lost.

Because you’re here. You get bored with the outside world and want to escape its pressures, don’t you?

Well, yeah, but that’s true of everyone.

Doesn’t that make you miserable?

Sometimes, I guess it does.

So, you see, you lie to yourself, saying you’re not miserable when really you are. You never lied to yourself before when you were here. You couldn’t because no one taught you how.

What’s the difference?

Why, the difference is everything, isn’t it? Then she cleared her throat. It’s everything and nothing, same as anything else. All you need to do is decide to be young and everything else follows from that. To be young is what it was like before you started acting old.

2

The Unusual Mrs. Fields

Lucy’s logic, or rather illogic, lost me again. She was at least naïve. I was relieved to see Mrs. Fields heading toward me. I recognized her from our previous meeting, though she did not appear quite as old as I recalled. Her short-cropped hair was not as white, but more like salt and pepper. She was a little taller than Lucy and wore white-framed glasses with a thin golden serpentine chain that wrapped round the back of her neck and attached to the ears tabs. She reminded me a little of my fourth-grade teacher who used to read stories to the class, and as she did it, she would annoyingly twist her finger through the beads she wore around her neck and periodically clear her throat. Why I thought of her after all these years caused me to shake my head and refocus on my purpose—delivering a computer.

Mrs. Fields wore a bright floral print dress and her shoes were oddly mismatched, though each one matched one of her dress’ two most prominent colors. On one foot, she wore a red slipper with a yellow anklet and on the other wore a yellow shoe with a red anklet. 

There you are, Carlos, she called out, apparently to me. I’m so glad you could make it. How wonderful it is to see you again! Isn’t it Lucy?

Yes, it’s delightful.

Uh, it’s good to see you again, too, Mrs. Fields. Except, my name is Brent, I attempted to correct any confusion.

No, I’m right, Carlos, Lord of Bartoul. I’m certain of it, unless you pretend to be someone else. Let me see, you liked being Antonio for a while, wearing the disguise of the peasant and suitor for the heart of the enchanted faerie princess. Then there was Richard, who was going to be a lawyer. I’m not sure whatever happened to him. But what an imagination you’ve always had!

What are you talking about? I asked her impatiently. I’m Brent. I’m here to deliver the computer system you purchased from Digital World HQ on Sunday.

Well, yes, of course you are, she said. Relieved at the flash of her apparent, if fleeting, lucidity, I smiled, until she added, You can play that role for as long as you feel it’s necessary. You may adjust as you need to, and then we can move on to more important matters.

Look, Mrs. Fields . . .

Call me Strawb, just as you used to, she insisted. I’ve decided Mrs. Fields is an old lady’s name. Johnny and Paul were playing with me when they suggested it as the perfect name for me. Now, it sounds far too old and weathered to ever suit me. Do I look old and weathered to you?

Uh, no, not really. I mean, I don’t know how old you are, not that it matters.

Exactly. Age should never matter so we can all be the age we want to be.

Shrugging, I asked, Where do you want me to set up the computer, Mrs. Fields?

Call me Strawb, please.

I’m sorry. It’s just the company insists we use titles and last names.

Aren’t they a stuffy bunch of pretentious people? All except for you, I was completely dissatisfied with their lack of service. You were a breath of freshness. Now that I think we’re friends again, you must call me Strawb. I’ll never tell your bosses. She winked.

Strawb, then. That’s an unusual name, isn’t it?

An unusual name for an unusual lady, Lucy suggested.

It’s a nickname, mostly, Strawb explained.

Short for what?

Strawberry, of course. My mother always loved them, and so, she loved me at least as much. That why, I have always smelled like fresh strawberries. It’s the most special scent in the world, don’t you agree?

It’s very nice.

Nothing is better.

It’s moot, I said.

Yes, well, if you are of a different opinion, just say so.

No, I like strawberries. It’s just that other people have other preferences.

Very well, then. As long as nothing important has changed in your absence. Everything will come back to you if we are patient, as hard as I know that is going to be for you. You always were so impatient. If there is one thing you need to learn, Carlos, it is patience.

Uh, Mrs. Fields . . .

Strawb, she insisted.

Strawb, yes. Here it is. I’m sorry, but I work for those pretentious people you spoke of earlier and they expect me to be certain places on time.

What a dreadful circumstance you have! I’m sorry about that.

I need to install this computer system. Lucy said you wanted it back here somewhere.

Yes, of course I do.

I would strongly recommend against that.

But why? It’s for the children and this is where the children play.

Exposing it to the elements will ruin it, I explained. The first time it rains . . .

We’ll have to prevent the elements from interfering, now won’t we? It’s a gift, mainly for Haim. Like all the children, he loves to play in the backyard. It would not do otherwise but to have his computer here as well. Haim is very important to us. You see, like you, he has the gift of inner vision.

He’s a delightful child, Lucy confirmed.

So very clever, like you were at his age, Strawb added. Always working on puzzles and solving them just as quickly as you did.

Okay, I acquiesced to the apparent decision to ignore my recommendations. I didn’t want to even tackle the other implications of what she was telling me about. Where do you want me to install this computer system, then?

Over there, Strawb pointed. That’s the most perfect place ever for a computer, don’t you think?

Looking at the place she proposed, I could not possibly disagree more. Strawb, just one last time . . .

It will be fine, Carlos. Don’t worry another moment about it. You’ve forgotten so many things. She shook her head. Helping you remember will be a challenge, no doubt. But it’s necessary for you, and for all of us.

She appeared to be a bit younger than she appeared even a few moments before. Perhaps, it was a trick of the light. It seemed to be widely diffused as if shining through a haze. The glow of what I assumed was the sun was rapidly descending, in a hurry to reach the far horizon. The way it played with the shadows might be the explanation for why everything looked a little odd.

As she continued