General (see Also Headings Under Social Themes)
I never did leap the coals of the Beltane fire and complete my journey to womanhood. Dawn found me standing on the strand beside my mother. We watched as my father, waist-deep in the ocean, raged and wept and thrashed his sword wildly against the tireless waves. It was a sight to make the sternest heart break and the pain and pity of it a thing I still cannot bear to recall.
It's around three o'clock when I hear the jingle of the bell attached to the door. I am moving boxes in the storeroom. Wiping my hands on my jeans, I walk through the doorway to the front of the store. At first, I think I'm seeing things. A ghost is coming toward the counter. It's running toward me: a skeleton covered in jaundiced skin. Quick and spastic, it has started talking before I realize it's my brother. Still, I can't stop staring at this weird and jerky marionette. There are deep hollows where his cheeks used to be and his arms—dangling from the sleeves of his T-shirt—are freakishly thin. A ripe odor makes me take a step back when he comes up close.
My life used to be a glass pitcher of white, pure, clean, delicious milk just bubbling over with goddamn wholesomeness. My entire life. My whole family was shiny and perfect, snipped right out of the stereotype catalogue: Mom, Dad, me, Chelsea, and our loyal dog, Glob...
I'm seventeen now, and that's all gone. Seventeen doesn't sound old. But it is. Trust me.
