Her eyes were shiny and still, like glass. Her skin, now the texture of porcelain, and devoid of any life; pale as the face of a ghost. The frequency of a thousand shattering dolls rang through the space between her ears as she mindlessly played the cello. She could not feel the bow in her right hand or the instrument pressing her thighs. She could not feel anything. The fair lady stared into the dull abyss of the crowd with a tragic blindness.  1968  Tabitha Rogers was a s

August of 1999  When Jim Gradferd died, everyone in the bloodline had rushed to the chapel, even those who weren’t speaking to him during his lifespan.  Mammilyn Gradferd, the feeble widow of Jim Gradferd, had taken a seat in the back row of the church, staring at her husband’s solemn portrait that was displayed on the left side of the casket. His black tie looked more faint and his limpid eyes looked more cloudy under the gleam of the pristine chandeliers.  The Pastor