text: Andy buried his wife on March 16th. It was a closed casket funeral, due to the violent and abrupt nature of her death. Her name was Lorelai Day. She was 32 years old. Andy had stood there at the front of the sanctuary looking down at the smooth, white coffin he had picked out for her just the day before. The inside was a deep, wine-colored velvet. Only the best for his Lo. Staring into the light reflecting off the coffin, he remembered the last time he saw her face. So full of fear, yet serene, like a calm ocean while a storm raged over head. He wondered dimly if her eyes were open. Her funeral service was full. Some of the guests could have been perfect strangers, people she had passed on the street. Looking around, Andy couldn't find one familiar face. Lo was the popular one, she had all the friends who by default became friends of Andy too. Andy didn't need any of those friends, he had Lo. After she was laid to rest, Andy couldn't bear going to the luncheon some friends were hosting afterward. He wouldn't be missed. He walked the streets alone, not much caring where he went, just vaguely making in the direction of their- well his- home. They -he- lived on a secluded branch of the neighborhood. Lo had insisted on moving closer to other people, but Andy liked the isolation. Now, that sense of loneliness was what he feared. As he slowly made his way up to their house, Andy could make out the outline of a large cardboard box sitting at their- his- front door. He knew that it must be another gift from one of their - Lo's- friends. As he approached, he could feel an odd cold feeling settle within him. Up to now, Andy hadn't opened any of the presents he had been given. He felt they didn't belong to him. But this, this was different. Andy couldn't place the sensation making its way slowly through him. It was a deep, sinking feeling. It felt as though he was being observed by an unknown force. He felt like a puppet being maneuvered by something greater as he bent down to scoop up the box. There was nothing on the outside, no note, no explanation of what it was or who it was from or how sorry whoever it was had been for his loss. He hoisted it inside and placed it down. He kneeled down and ran a hand across the top of the box, almost like he was inviting whatever was inside to come out. He cautiously lifted the top flaps and leaned in. Inside were beat up and well-used books. No, not books, Andy thought to himself as he picked one up to examine it. Journals. He opened the cover. Inside it read as follows: December 8th No Turning Back The handwriting. It flowed between certain letters and was almost... smudged? Andy suddenly felt whatever had been sinking inside him hit the bottom. Lo. This was Lo's. Are all of these her's? Where did they come from? Why are they here now? Who put them there? Andy slowly peered inside the box again. His eyes saw what must have been at least 15 or 20 journals. They were all the same deep forest green, hardcovers, bookmarked on the last page. He picked another out of the box, opened the cover and read the following: April 24th Sink or Swim Andy frantically flipped through the pages. All were filled completely, all to the very end. Andy froze. Confusion swept through him like a great wave crashing on a small child. Pulling them deep into the undertow. Lo and Andy never kept secrets. Never. He reached into the box and pulled out a third. He opened the cover, and read the following: September 4th Out Like A Light Andy turned to the next page, shaking in an almost convulsive manner. The pages were rough and well worn. Someone had read this before, multiple times. Over and over and over again. Andy felt as though he couldn't stop. He had no other choice but to read. "I felt the itch again today. Sometimes it hits so hard I just can't contain it. I waited until he fell asleep. I waited until he feels into the rhythmic snore cycle that always woke me up. I stood over him, watched for a second. He seems so at peace when he's dreaming. That serenity is what I crave" Andy suddenly felt a line of cold sweat trace his upper lip, but he couldn't stop. "I followed her into the park. I've seen her before. Long, gorgeous chestnut hair, tied loosely into a ponytail that seemed to bounce as she ran. She had no idea I had been following her. She seemed oblivious to the world around her. She was perfect. I got closer. The weight in my hand growing heavier by the second, just aching to be freed. I tapped her twice gently on the left shoulder. I wanted to see her face. She turned, with a dumb smile stuck squarely on her mouth. Then she was on the ground, eyelids twitching manically. The brick in my hand now slick with blood. I crouched down delicately to get closer. She was so beautiful. I swept a piece of her hair off of her face, then admired her closely for just a second. She started to croak out something that she never finished. Then in one swift motion, she was gone. Out like a light. Out like a light. Out like a light out like a light out like a light out like a light...." Andy frantically flipped through the pages only to see the phrase repeated over and over to the very last line. He shut the journal then threw it across the foyer. He scooted away to the base of the stairs, he tried to stand, but his legs had turned to jello. He wanted to run. In the light seeping through the windows, he saw faint markings on the spine of the journal. He slowly crawled forward. He gently picked the journal back up and turned it to the spine. There he saw the number 374. Andy suddenly jumped as the sound of the doorbell echoed through the house. Andy stood slowly, dropping the journal at his feet. As he slowly walked towards the door, what he saw made him feel like he had sunk through the floor. Innocently waiting for him at the front door was another box. Something seemed to call to him from inside the package.