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Twenty-Eight
Frankie: I was up before the sun, standing at the balcony's doors with my coffee, watching it rain. The fog that rose in this place was unlike anything I had ever seen, seeming so thick one could cut it with a knife. How could something seem so peaceful, so otherworldly with beauty, yet so empty, so void of everything? The emptiness spread through me, reminding me again how lonely I felt. Maybe this is just a side effect of being murdered—the loneliness, I mean. What if it comes in waves like the ones washing up on the rocky shores of this beautiful place? What if, like those waves, my loneliness will carry itself out, leaving me like the tide leaves the shore? Before I could sink any deeper into the sadness of the moody mountains or answer the call of the shifting shadows of the
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