Semi-Daily Scribbles

Zoë feared having to start over. Numbers screamed in Zoë's head, and it was all she could do to write them down. She'd amassed so many combinations, the thought of losing her notebooks made her nauseous. Zoë had been busy over the summer, chasing down bits of code and truncated clues, and neglected to notice the foliage had flown away. Her geraniums had also taken off, leaving behind vacant terra cotta pots. With not even a patch of grass to remind her of home, Zoë hoped the rumbling, rolling numbers keeping her up at night were going to haul in some kind of payday. She always believed fortunes could change without having to hand over one's soul. Good thing, too. Zoë gave away her sanity for safekeeping, and had little else but her life to donate to the collection plate.

Autumn dropped its jewel-toned leaves onto the busted cement in front of Zoë's apartment. She sat in her bay window and admired the vibrant carpet spread out just for her. She loved the time of year when death dressed in pretty colors, and wanted nothing more than to walk out into the fresh decay. Autumn was open for possibilities, but Zoë was shut up inside her beige-painted walls. She couldn't risk being seen among the living. Of course, Zoë wasn't dead, but she was stuck. One foot was planted in reality, while the rest of her went wandering off to experience life as something else. It was a painful existence, inhabiting the role of a ghost, but it was also a satisfying release from the ordinary. Evening was gaining strength, adding murkiness to red and yellow, and robbing brown of all its warmth. Zoë counted the number of acorns on the stoop missing their snug little caps, and wondered if all the pieces would fall into place if she, too, remained detached from herself.

Stephanie was the light to which her friends were drawn. She was not an attention seeker, and never thought of herself as the life of the party, but she knew the value of projecting a positive attitude. It rubbed off on people. A kind word or gesture made the loneliest soul feel invincible, and obstacles melted in the afternoon sun. It was Stephanie's greatest achievement when a personal connection was made with another human being. She thought of that energy being absorbed into her own little cloak of invincibility. Stephanie believed if enough happy thoughts were wound around each other, safety and warmth would smother the bad dreams demanding to be noticed. The roots were buried deep, but her dreams sent up runners to obliterate the light of reason. Stephanie's own mocking doubt strangled her resolve, reducing her from a leader to a wanderer. Stephanie had traveled that path before. It led her into a darkness from which she never fully escaped. As her light flickered, allowing glimpses of the shadow to appear, Stephanie spun her last lucky threads with as nimble a hand as she could. She would not allow her devouring need to draw her friends into the ever-widening emptiness.

Millicent was ready for intrigue and adventure to enter her life. If it were purely up to her, however, to get lost in a mystery, she feared she would just as soon disappear in the laundry. Millicent was not experienced in the art of getting started. She needed a spark to catch. Millicent's sphere of influence reached as far as her parents, a cousin in Kent, and the man behind the bakery counter. They were patient, understanding people who spoke in quiet voices, but they weren't very exciting. Millicent's mother thought thrill-seeking led to restlessness and ill-humor, neither of which were desirable traits in a young lady. There wasn't a lot of color to work with on Millicent's palette, and she dreamed of fire lighting up the taupe that filled her days. She wanted a combination tour guide and fairy godmother to take her by the hand, and lead her into an enchanted forest like the one in her favorite story. Sadly, there were no eager volunteers in Millicent's world. She realized she would have to play maiden, monster, and messiah if she was to reap any benefit from all her book learning.

Millicent decided on what needed to be done. After she finished the Monday morning errands, Millicent pocketed her father's lighter, tore the end from the family's bread, and headed for the dark arbores which fueled her imagination.