If I told you that I planned for this story to be this way I'd be lying. It is what it is, and, as usual it isn't finished. So much for endings. To hell with them!

Mr. and Mrs. Beacon owned a dress shop on the corner of Park and 75th. The couple also owned the flat above the shop so every morning all they would have to do was walk down some stairs and they’d be at work. It was a lesser known fact that Mr. Beacon who did the sewing. Mr. Beacon was something of a mystery to people. He always stayed in the back room during business hours. You knew he was there because of the motor buzzing from the sewing machine. He even went as far as having a small bell that he would ring if he needed something and either Mrs. Beacon or the sales girl, Caitlin Marsh, would go back to see what he needed. That was the other half to the weirdness of Mr. Beacon. Other people who worked in the shop, like Agnes the girl who ran the flower counter and Denise, but it was just those two were the ones allowed in the back room of the shop, thus the only people who ever saw him. He never attended town functions. Mrs. Beacon, whose first name was Matilda, would make excuses for him saying that he had a bad back or a head ache or something equally benign. No one ever really raised any fuss about it.

Between the hours of nine in the morning until eleven the back room was always quiet. If people thought that that was because Mr. Beacon liked to sleep in, they were mistaken. Mr. Beacon awoke without alarm or rooster at nine minutes after seven every day. The reason it was so quiet until eleven every morning was because Mr. Beacon spent those hours doing something other than sit behind his sewing table. Mr. Beacon was actually an inventor, or at least he would like to call himself that. He had a separate space in the back room, a table really, where he would sit and sketch plans for various little oddities. His projects, as he called them, were always top secret, though he made no aims at keeping them so, nor did he have to. Mrs. Beacon never bothered to even look and it never occurred to Caitlin to care. It was during those hours that he worked diligently on those projects and at exactly eleven o’clock he went back to his sewing table for an hour and began the work for the shop before taking his lunch.

Sally Winterlock had an appointment at ten o’clock on Wednesday to have her bridal gown fitted. She was standing on a platform box while Mrs. Beacon bustled about her pinning things here and there when a loud howl came from the back. Everyone froze. Mrs. Beacon calmly and very politely excused herself and walked quickly, though tried to appear no to do so, to see what had befallen her husband. Caitlin snatched a handful of jelly beans out of the glass dish left out for patrons and looked over to Agnes. She smiled shyly. Agnes jutted her head, willing Caitlin to go back and see what all the fuss was about. Caitlin tilted her head back and dropped the jelly beans into her mouth, pushed the chair back and sauntered back past Sally Winterlock.

“’scuse me,” she mumbled. She disappeared. A moment later a loud cackle was heard and Caitlin reappeared with a smile on her face, wiping a tear from her eye.

“Is everything alright?” Sally Winterlock asked. Caitlin flopped back in her chair and swiveled it back and forth.

“Oh sure!” Caitlin said, “Everything is just fine.”

Mrs. Beacon reappeared and went back to pinning up the hem in the back of the white satin gown. “There, now, that should do it” Mrs. Beacon said. “You can take this off now and we’ll handle the rest. You’ll be a lovely bride!” Sally Winterlock changed and thanked Mrs. Beacon as she walked quickly out of the shop.

“What happened back there?” Agnes asked.

“Nothing to worry about.” Mrs. Beacon replied sounding nervously at ease. “Mr. Beacon just had a bit of an accident with a machine. No doctor required.”

Mr. Beacon was tightening a bolt on his latest project, a mechanical squirrel he was putting together with bits of tin and scrap metal when his hand slipped and he jabbed his thumb into the table. But that wasn’t what made him howl. The howl, you see, wasn’t a cry of pain but one of joy for when he finished that last pull of the wrench he realized that his little project was then complete. Now it was just a matter of bringing it to life.

As Sally Winterlock was back in the dressing room changing out of her wedding dress Mr. Beacon was there holding two electrically charged cables over his Frankenstein. As the door swung shut he lowered the cables and the power surged and hummed from wire to metal. The lights of the shop flickered and then instantly went out. In the darkness Mrs. Beacon’s voice could be heard.

“Charles!” She cried. Charles was Mr. Beacon’s first name. “What on earth have you done now?”

Mr. Beacon stumbled over to one of the dusty shelves and found a lantern. He carried it over to the table and lit the wick. In the candle light, he stood unmoving over his creation, barely breathing, waiting in anticipation to see whether he had finally had success. And then it happened. The little tin squirrel moved, just a little. It lifted itself up just slightly and then collapsed back down again. That was it. That was all, but it was enough. Mr. Beacon was overjoyed!

“Weee-whoo!” He cried. “I did it!” And he burst out the door of the backroom and into the dress shop dancing. His hair gray and wild, like his eyes. He wore a dingy blue bathrobe and matching slippers. He ran up to his wife, Matilda, and lifted her in a spin, kissing her square on the lips. “I did it,” he cried again. “This time, I really did it!”

“Charles!” Matilda cried. “What are you going on about? What have you done?” Charles set her down again but left his hands on her hips. It was so queer, not just seeing Charles Beacon, but seeing him standing there in his bathrobe with his wife. Such a contrast, such an odd pair. Mrs. Beacon never looked heavy or particularly beautiful but standing so close to that man, he made it so. She really was heavy, heavy and beautiful.

Charles looked Matilda square in the eyes and said, “It moved!”

This week is action packed! Class today (it's still Tuesday in my brain). Mind-fuck on Wednesday. Grandpa's wake on Thursday (instead of class) and Funeral on Friday. By Saturday I'll really be bashing my head against a wall.

I don't know why I'm not passed out right now. Considering how I didn't sleep last night. That was on purpose but tonight is another fluke. I stayed awake that whole time (minus about 2 hours for naps before class and on train rides) to try to fix my brain so that sleep would come easy and not at 5am. But here I am, a million hours later sitting up and doing nothing productive.

I found $100.00 tonight in my room. I kid you not! I was laying there and I looked lovingly over at my bookshelf and for some reason I was drawn to the Dr. Seuss Book that my aunt had given me when I graduated high school (Oh, the Places You'll Go!) and I started flipping through the pages. Inside the middle of the book was a card that my aunt had given me along with the book and inside the card was $100 cash! Woo-Whoo! Baby's gonna go buy herself a new pair of shoes! Seriously!

A rough draft of a night's work...

I stumbled out into the morning and ate sand. It strangled my tongue and scraped my throat when I swallowed. I got up running and I could feel the tiny crystals of earth tumbling over in my stomach. That day I dropped to my knees and an avalanche came up from my insides along with blood and a few tears. The taste has stayed with me all this time and to this day, I find myself burdened with an unquenchable thirst. I can no longer eat bread, the grains bear too much resemblance, or roots for the dirt from whence they came always lingers.

I spend afternoons and evenings lying in a porcelain bath, submerged to my chin in warm water. Every few hours, when it cools, I drain the water and fill it again. By nightfall, my skin is pink and puckered. To pass the time I make up little songs or submerge my head to see how long I can hold my breath. My only window to the outside world is just that, a small pane of glass where I can see trees on grass and a lake bordered by a ring of sand. I try not to look out but up at the sky where I can see birds flying and clouds, the stars at night.

When I was a little boy, my grandfather would sit with me in the twilight and teach me the stories of the stars. My favorite has always been the myth of Aquarius. I remember it just as he told it. A very long time ago, a little boy named Ganymede was out tending his sheep. The mighty Zeus sent his eagle Aquila after him. The great bird snatched Ganymede up and he became the cupbearer for the Olympian Gods. The stars draw a picture of Ganymede being whisked away by that bird, holding a cup of water. When the sun rises in Aquarius, the rains flood the land.

I do love it when it rains. On those rare times, I sit out on the porch and wait for the droplets to come. Only then do I step bare foot on the earth. I tilt my head back and open my mouth to catch the rain, the untouched water as it falls from the sky. It’s a bittersweet feeling in its beauty but also I can’t help but feel as if it’s the whole world’s tears falling down on me. The world weeps and I with it.

The night of my mother’s passing my grandfather took me up a path to the top of the great hill overlooking the lake. He took my hand up with his and pointed at a lone bright star. He told me that that was where my mother had gone and she would always be there shining down on me and that I’d never be alone as long as I remembered that. I looked up at him, quizzically and asked him why my mother was part of Cassiopeia. He laughed and after a moment explained that my mother went there to help hold Cassiopeia up, that her beauty and wisdom would strengthen that star. Then I asked him which star I would go to when I died. He thought for a minute and smiled. “Perseus,” he said. We buried my mother on that spot at the top of the hill.

The last story that my grandfather told me was that of Perseus. There was a prophecy that a man named Acrisius would be murdered by his grandson. Hearing that he locked Danae, his only daughter, away in a prison. Zeus fooled Acrisius and entered the prison disguised as a shower of gold. When Acrisius discovered that Danae had given birth to Perseus he had them both locked in a wooden trunk and thrown out into the sea. They came upon an island and were welcomed. Perseus grew to be handsome and strong and was a celebrated hunter. He was honored by an invitation to participate in the funeral games for a fallen king. During an event, Perseus threw a discus that happened to strike Acrisius, who was there to watch the games, and killed him.

That night my grandfather went to sleep and didn’t wake up. When the birds stirred me from my dreams I went to him and saw how still he lay. I felt how cold his skin had grown. On his face was peace and a trace of a smile. But he had left me alone. More than anything I wanted to know which one he had gone to. Which star would he cling to in the night sky so that I could find him and be comforted? He left me alone without that answer.

I felt my body repel from his. Outside I fell to my knees before the lake and dug my hands into the sand. I grabbed handfuls and watched it filter through my fingers. One of these handfuls I chucked at the water and saw how the lake swallowed the tiny grains. With both hands I scooped up a great mound and hesitated before putting it past my lips. I ran. I followed the path up to the top of the hill to where my mother was buried and fell to my knees upon her. I buried my grandfather next to her that day.

The years have passed by slowly and I am old now but I have remained here. I regurgitate his stories over each night but only to myself, for there is no one but the wind to listen. The day I laid my grandfather to rest was the last time I set foot upon that hill and over the years my boundaries shrunk. I still wonder. I see so many stars that have no names to me and there is no one left to give me answers. I sit and breath and wait for the day when I will be up there with them, resting in the stars.

So about a week ago I started writing this story about this girl who gets a call from her mom telling her that her grandfather had just died. I did it on purpose. I knew it was coming and for some reason I thought maybe it would help me prepare myself for the phone call I got tonight, half way through my first beer at my friend Jeff's party. It really didn't and now I swear I'll never finish that fucking story.

My grandpa died.

On this night as I lay alone in my bed, waiting for sleep to find me I found instead a train of thought. It wasn't the first time I have wished for death but in it's own way...

Sometimes I wish I had some terminal disease because most days, the waiting and the unknowing is relentless and I wish that the end were in sight. As it is life is a game of chance. Tomorrow I could die by getting hit by a bus; a rock could fall from the sky and put an end to me. But more than likely I'll find myself sitting here again unable to sleep. It's so hard to live without hope, without something to look forward to and for me there's isn't anything. When I was younger I used to naively believe that I had something to give to this world, that I was special, but the years have wore on me and I feel thin- mentally and physically. Writing isn't enough anymore. I need a new perspective.

I need an adventure. I need to find my thirst for life again. More than anything lately I've been daydreaming about running away from this town, this city and looking for something new- but there is always that part of me that knows that I'll never find what I want in this world. That's what hurts me the most, knowing in my heart that what I truly desire is something that can't ever be.

I feel so selfish. So spoiled. So stupid. I hate the thought of writing this thinking about all the things that I do have in my life, all the people in my life... It wouldn't be fair for me to discount their wonderfulness.

*********
She can quench all of her thirsts, satisfy hunger but there were parts of her that could never be tamed. She knew it, like it was something in the air, something was missing. In the winter months she would freeze, even before a fire. In the summer she boiled. She lingered by windows and glanced about when she walked outside. She was searching for something that she could not see or touch. It was something even she could not name but it was out there, she believed it with all her heart. She was forever searching, for this missing piece of her. She would never be whole without it. Never.

I am such an idiot. I can't even begin. I think I'm screwed and if that's so than I'm reverting to the aforementioned plan of dropping out of school. Who cares that I'll probably never go back, right? Who cares.

I feel horrible! On my way home, not two minutes ago, a not very smart little bunny rabbit ran out in front of my car. I tried to stop and not put an end to it but I heard a soft thud and cringed. I'm so sorry little bunny. Go now and rest in peace. I'm sorry.

I think my therapist thinks I have an eating disorder. She can take a number with that theory. I ate a mountain of spaghetti tonight. My family was impressed- and if you haven't seen the large individuals that I live with than you wouldn't understand that.

Is it strange that I've had a craving for movies with Minnie Driver in them lately? Don't know why. I watched Circle of Friends (or something like that) last night and tonight it's Good Will Hunting. After that I'm tapped out so let's hope that I wake up tomorrow and Minnie won't drive me toward any more of her sappy films. (yeah. That's right. I know what I said.) I would say that I could always just go rent something but I'm not allowed to rent movies anymore. That's a sad and only slightly interesting personal anecdote that I will not share here and now but if you ask me... If you feel lucky... Or if you want to laugh in a sad way at me then I'll tell you all about it. Maybe Margot will let me borrow Grosse Point Blank and then I can get me some John Cusack action at the same time. Woo!

I've been really punchy lately. I didn't end up dropping out of school for those interested. Momentary freak out. I'm ok. I'm alive. I didn't physically damage myself in any way. Life is getting better by the day. One day at a time right?

Yay drugs! Yay Minnie!

PS. I love this kid!

Two of my old friends have decided to show up and take over my life again. I haven't seen them in years. I call them Panic Attack and Tension Headache. You couldn't ask for better friends!

Tomorrow morning will be the end of me. Tomorrow morning I make one of the biggest decisions of my life. Will I or won't I drop out of school? Right now I can't answer that. I'm sure my old friends will have something to say about it and unless I can quiet them enough to listen to my real brain, I'm looking at a wonderful life in retail for the rest of my life. How fitting. The fuck up that I am strikes again. I can't wait to tell my parents. Oh the things I should tell people...

...And now I want to die.

Forcing myself to wake up everyday. Reminding myself to eat. Forcing myself to smile. Hiding behind drugs and alcohol. Hiding in a movie or video game. Hiding from everything. That's what I have been doing. Notice that reading, writing and going to class isn't on that list.

So let's see... I woke up. I ate. I forced a smile or two. Hmmm... Played video games and watched a movie... What am I missing? Oh yeah! See ya.