Sweet, milk honey eyes graze across the light dew of the morning grass. Anna, a slender girl of fourteen, lets a solemn sigh twist off her lips. From the window, she sees the world a different place than she had the night before. The grass is less green, the sky a dismal gray; and the houses, the rows of identical, one story houses, feel empty of warmth and comfort, even her own.

Her feet, weaved in a web of monotonous blue colored blankets, shake away its constraints. Lifting one arm for balance, she slips off her bed. On her wall, she glances at stilled memories: all the people that made the earth beautiful. Her eyes settle on one picture, a boy only two years older than she, with silky black lace for hair and a crooked smile. Andrew, her first boyfriend. Deceased. Suicide.

Yesterday.

Letting her feet carry her to the bathroom, her body falls to the floor. With a pink razor gripped slenderly in her hand, her eyes shut; milk honey eyes that just couldn’t see the world the same way.