Prelude
The violent thrash of red and blue danced against white picket fences and pristine flat lawns in the suburban neighborhood I had once called home.
My father’s calloused fingers patted my thin shoulder, his voice barely above a whisper as they wheeled her away in a lifeless black bag.
“I’m sorry, buddy,” was all he said, tears coating his throat, his strength failing him for the first time in my life.
I couldn’t recall the moment before. My mind wrapped it up in a black cloth, shoved it in a locked box and hid it in a dark corner of my mind that I never dared to venture towards.
All I knew for sure was that she was gone.
Ten years after bringing me into the world, Marilyn Eberly left mine forever.
