The party is a proper cake-and-ice-cream affair, so it feels like I'm five, not fifteen. They turn out the lights, and in the pure candlelight I see everyone, and you're standing right next to me, and the candlelight is playing on your face..

I blow out the candles, and in that split second before the lights are turned on, you disappear.

*

You're walking down a street. It's dark, and I'm chasing you, but there is always a fixed distance between us. The streetlamps light our way, their warm, orange glow lighting the night so that I can still see you ahead of me.

I run, to catch up with you, but you start running too, and then the streetlamps all go out, and I am alone, in the dark, and I call your name, and then I'm screaming, screaming and screaming for you, and the darkness is liquid, drowning me, choking me, and it's in my lungs, and I can't breathe..

*

I'm standing in the kitchen with my black, cheesecloth skirt in my hand. It's light, and dry. The weather is mild, not a sunny day, but not a cold day either.

Suddenly, the skirt is heavy and wet in my hand. I look down, and it's coaked with blood. I run to the sink and scrub it, frantically, but it won't come out.

I'm scrubbing and wringing and soaping, and there's more and more blood, and it won't go away. The water is black with it. It swirls under the surface and covers my arms up to the elbow.

I panic, and start crying as I wash, and all the time, there's more and more blood. I scrub, and scrub, until I'm tired.

Then, I look down at my hands, and I realise that the blood is mine.

So long and goodnight.