I inherited the plantation while my father was busy trying to run the world from his small corner of his study selling large plots of land to rich men. Not much that I could say would stop him from sending me out into the bayou country to "tidy up" as he called it, what is now the greatest possession I own. When I got here there wasn't much to really do other than what seemed to me like tear down everything that had been done by the previous owner and start from scratch. I was used to people coming in and doing the work while you told them what color walls you wanted, not visiting the lumber yard to pick out what wood would hold up best for the floors.

Alarms sounded, blending with the voice that echoed down the corridor and through the cells, demanding that all prisoners were to return to their cells. The call was barely heard over the yelling and fighting of the other inmates, who rioted against the guards throughout the prison. The man sat alone in his cell doodling in his notepad, acutely aware that his door was open and ignoring all the commotion outside. He knew exactly how it would end.

It is the land which, through the years, the brave aspired to;
Whose shores with open arms have welcomed every creed and hue;
Where all ideas of "right and wrong" our forebears could devise
Have yielded and adapted in the name of compromise.

Oh great! Valentine's Day is tomorrow and once again I'm alone, Maggie thought.What is wrong with me? Why can't I find true love? Maggie had long, thick, red hair with piercing blue eyes. She was seventeen years old and had fully grown into her feminine curves. The pain of her loneliness was too much to bear for any amount of time and she wanted to escape. So, she decided to distract herself with her favorite hobby...

My paces were swift and direct, heals clicking against the tile floor below me as I walked a straight line. To long had I been here, walking the length of the same small room counting the time and waiting for someone to come out and tell me what was going on, if everything was okay. My arms wrapped around my middle instinctively as if to comfort myself. My ghostly grey eyes flickered towards the clock once more, it's slow painful ticking taking a toll on my sanity.

You were often so distant, so removed, so distraught
And you were not very comforted by the man that you sought

I would have bought you carnations, brought comfort to alleviate your pain
To help you get past the morbid, to get past your own rain

But you would not allow me to soothe the hurt in your heart
I made every effort for us not to part

For 20 years it was all about her as she roamed, played and slept under our roof, entertaining and pesting us equally. She was there ignoring us during all of our trials and tribulations as well as the good times. I will miss preparing the surface of her bony noggin with my affectionate rubs that flattened her cute ears. It always amused me the way the little rascal endured the daily head pops she knew would inevitably follow the head rubbing.

This then is a record of what it was like to live with Ralph

Everyone has a different smell; their own special scent which sets them apart, however slightly, from the throngs of suited workers or uniform students. Some people smell sweet, others slightly bitter; some unlucky people smell like they haven't showered for days even if they have, while others always manage to carry their own subtle perfume like delicate butterfly wings.

But there's nothing quite like the smell of you.

I can't ever win this dreaded battle, no matter how hard I've truly tried! Some would say I am like the queen of the familiar chessboard who always keeps on fighting, with or without a king fighting by me side; however never can I win as I stand, single-handedly, my heavy heart hounding inside of my chest like a room bursting of famished lions raging, pounding into the cage of my ribs...

Lungs filled with anticipation.

A tunnel looms ahead. The car is rolling towards it. I am at the wheel and there is a woman sitting next to me. I look back and there are two identical men in the back seat of the car. Between them is a small boy. I notice a sign on the smooth granite wall above the entrance to the tunnel. "Warning-Dark," it reads. I switch the small grey knob on the left side of the wheel into the "On" position. My headlights explode in light, preparing me and my passengers for the ride ahead.