Icontinued listening to her diatribe about how some person slighted her atthe checkout stand. I tried so hard not to tell her that her job wasmeaning...less, but instead I found myself again thinking of that girl inthe car while she droned on. Her soft smile, her golden hair, and herperkiness made me grin despite the pointless conversation I was having."This is my life," I thought. I was so hesitant to tell her that I'dlost the promotion that would have changed our lives. I wanted so muchto. I step toward you, but I do not touch you, yet. I examine the smooth skin of your forehead, the wisps of hair at your temples, the soft flesh behind your ears. You feel my breath tickle your skin, and I hear your sharp intake of breath as my lips brush your neck. Now I hold you, lightly, and you clutch at me desperately, assuring yourself of my reality. I feast on the skin on the nape of your neck, tasting the delicate hairs there, smelling the subtle perfume of your body. The heat that rises. They don't even know their mother anymore, and it won't take them long to get over it. As to why I've suddenly changed, let's just say that I've recently woken up to the fact that you've been using me, and I don't like it, not even a little bit."She stopped crying, got an astonished look on her face and responded, "using you! How am I using you?" You're using me to raise the kids and run the household by myself while you're out having a good time under the pretense of working hard."She was. . Everything that happens before Death is what counts.” -Ray Bradbury, ‘Something Wicked This Way Comes’ *** It was late, and everyone else had gone home. There was no one to keep Sharon company. No one but the dead. Sometimes, when she was alone in the museum like this, she thought of the collection as something she could hear. Most of the artifacts were made to be vessels for some ancient god or spirit, after all, so the building should be crawling with the sounds of old ghosts and gods. If.