eight.

Flying, she drifted through town. A misty haze covered the ground but she skimmed over it. Gliding. Trixie Jean had an overwhelming feeling of peace. She felt sedate. Like syrup was moving through her veins. She waved to the passersby. Most of the faces unrecognizable. She saw Mr. Christophe from the orphanage , he was beaming. His eyes glowing with kindness. He was floating too. Trixie Jean reached for Mr. Christophe’s hands. They began to dance, soaring above fields now the scenery was unrecognizable to Trixie Jean. Trixie Jean had never felt so calm. Suddenly she heard a loud bangs. Gunshots. They weren’t stopping. The feeling of serenity disappeared. She tried to gasp but she couldn’t, tried to scream but all she heard were her babies cries. The gun shots wouldn’t stop. Mr. Christophe’s hands became icy in hers and he dissolved away. Trixie Jean began to spin. Everything was dark around her. She kept spinning, soaring higher and higher. She heard a distant sound, a ringing. Trixie Jean’s eyes popped open. The alarm clock. Another Monday.