I feel like someone is pressing me into a mold that does not fit my body, forcing me intothe wrong shape.

I have discovered that sitting still leaves little spaces for the grief to get in, so I stay busy.

It was him or me. I chose me. But I feel dead too.

He doesn’t scowl, but his mouth is so tense that I know he’s angry with me. 'Don’t be an idiot,' he says. 'An idiot?' Is he talking about the blanket? 'You were lying.

Eyes open, then," I say, tapping the skin between my eyebrows. I don’t really need her eyes to be on mine, but I feel better when they are.

I want to break something, or hit something, but I am afraid to move, so I start crying instead.

My body rises with the water. Instead of kicking my feet to stay abreast of it, I push all the air from my lungs and sink to the bottom. The water muffles my ears. I feel its movement over my face. I think about snorting the water into my lungs so it kills me faster, but I can't bring myself to do it. I blow bubbles from my mouth. Relax. I close my eyes. My lungs burn.