The couple stood at the foot of the grave, flowers in hand. More than twenty years had gone by and still standing there the pain of that night washed over them. They silently wondered if it would ever lessen, would the loss ever abate. Their marriage had grown stronger; they had needed each other to lean on. She had been their only child, a gift from God in their later years. In some cruel twist, it been snatched away. Laying the flowers on her grave, they went to the task of clearing away the leaves and twigs from winter’s wrath. Satisfied, they joined hands, told her how much they missed her and walked back to their car. The image came to her clearly; it was that of a headstone, standing off in the distance. As it moved toward her a feeling of profound loss came over her. As the feelings grew the stone came close enough to read the inscription. "Beloved Daughter" it said. Above it two dates and above that a name. Her head swam as she read her own name. Before she could think, the image changed again and she saw herself lying on a bathroom floor in a pool of blood. Wrists slit, her black gown spread around her, she lay motionless. Another image overtook her. That of her father bending over her, his lips moving, no sound escaping. Repeatedly new images came each more painful than the last. Her mother, hands to her mouth crying, paramedics trying desperately to save her. Then, as fast as they came they disappeared and she was again sitting on the steps alone in the fog, only this time she knew where she was.
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