They both died in my arms.� The first and eldest daughter was warning me and I listened to her words, but the second and younger girl I let die silently as I held her against my chest.� It was a strong � b e w a r e � against the youngest that kept me separated from the others.� I knew it had to be done at my own hands-but it happened nonetheless and she only rocked in my arms.� So tiny.� The eldest sat lengthwise across my body and whispered to me all of the evils I should stop before the door blew open and all the snow flurries covered us on the wooden slats.� She gasped between each letter and her eyes drooped.� Parents and aunts sat on couches; we only reached their knees and they never said a word until they both died.� Then their eyes turned to me.

����������� I never looked at their bodies but I caught them winking at me in the corners of the room.� It was bitter to see, but I wasn�t frightened.� Without the eldest to give me wisdom I failed to see the next step.� I took the ceremonial balloons to the Asian cliffs and waited my turn.� One man mourned in the middle of the ocean, balancing on� top of the water without ever sinking.� His grief made him float.� Then a guard came.� To take us all away from the edge.� I slipped by the uniform and tossed the popped balloon over the brown and into the blue.� It sat awhile, then decided to go deep instead of continue like the grieving man.� I cried but my body wouldn�t comply.� It wanted to be stiff and be tossed over, too.� I sat on the dock nearby and wallowed.� There was no balloon for the evil child.� She was something unusual.

����������� Then friends came and told me not to cry.

10 April 2004