An Amber Colored Ray of Light
The row never came. I never had the opportunity to bring it up because the need to move, to make contact found us. That very night, I'd only just laid down to sleep when I heard it: a telepathic cry. A Tomorrow Person was crying out, asking if there was anyone left alive.
I was so stunned that it took me a full five minutes before I replied to her. Her name is Amber, she's fifteen and she's in the States. I woke Adam, and once he ridded himself of the cobwebs of sleep, I explained the situation to him. By unspoken and mutual agreement, we both went immediately to meet Amber.
She's a new break out, the first in a year. Meeting Amber was bittersweet though because she's dying. She survived the Deluge and Fate's Handmaiden, but she has an inoperable brain tumor and she doesn't have much time left.
Amber Pickerton is a talented, vivacious fifteen-year-old with freckles and that pale, fair skin that true red heads have, and a selection of fiery red wigs. She has a mischievous smile, a wicked sense of humor and a sarcastic wit that matches Adam's and leaves him in the dust. She plays the flute and the violin and before the tumor she ran track and played volleyball. There's something uplifting and refreshing about simply being in her company. For all intents and purposes, were it not for the painful headaches that leave her throwing up and curled in a fetal position, or the seizures, one would never know that her time is running out.
When the hospitals were overrun with victims of Fate's Handmaiden, Amber was sent home and her treatments, nasty radiation and chemotherapy, stopped. She said that she didn't mind - it felt better to be able to walk and run and dance while dying than suffer miserably while supposedly postponing death. Her parents and her two younger brothers all died within days of Amber's discharge and she buried them one-by-one in the cemetery across from the Methodist church.
"We're not Methodist, but they deserved a good Christian burial right? And it was the closest," Amber explained.
She's been on her own in this little sleepy pseudo-farm town of Haven, Illinois ever since. Her family's home was a smallish little four bedroom, two toilet, but as the town emptied, either the dead being buried by their loved ones or perishing in the hospital, and she realized she was alone, she moved into a house of her choice: a sprawling blue and gray Queen Anne near the edge of town.
"It was the Rowlands. I always liked it, so I didn't think anyone would mind if I lived here for a while. It's not like it's going to be that long anyway." Amber confessed that she actually had to bury Mrs. Rowland and Baby Abigail, though and she doesn't go in that bedroom.
(I sympathized. I still can't cross the threshold of the bedrooms in my Gran's house. Yes, I've been back to tend the graves and wander the house. But never the bedrooms.)
One thing to be said for the Rowlands, they planned ahead. This house still utilizes the old root cellar and underground ice box and has a generator. Added bonus: Mr. Rowland was a fan of Ducati.
When I saw the bike, Amber asked if the Ducati and I needed some alone time.
Cheeky little sot that one is.
I was so stunned that it took me a full five minutes before I replied to her. Her name is Amber, she's fifteen and she's in the States. I woke Adam, and once he ridded himself of the cobwebs of sleep, I explained the situation to him. By unspoken and mutual agreement, we both went immediately to meet Amber.
She's a new break out, the first in a year. Meeting Amber was bittersweet though because she's dying. She survived the Deluge and Fate's Handmaiden, but she has an inoperable brain tumor and she doesn't have much time left.
Amber Pickerton is a talented, vivacious fifteen-year-old with freckles and that pale, fair skin that true red heads have, and a selection of fiery red wigs. She has a mischievous smile, a wicked sense of humor and a sarcastic wit that matches Adam's and leaves him in the dust. She plays the flute and the violin and before the tumor she ran track and played volleyball. There's something uplifting and refreshing about simply being in her company. For all intents and purposes, were it not for the painful headaches that leave her throwing up and curled in a fetal position, or the seizures, one would never know that her time is running out.
When the hospitals were overrun with victims of Fate's Handmaiden, Amber was sent home and her treatments, nasty radiation and chemotherapy, stopped. She said that she didn't mind - it felt better to be able to walk and run and dance while dying than suffer miserably while supposedly postponing death. Her parents and her two younger brothers all died within days of Amber's discharge and she buried them one-by-one in the cemetery across from the Methodist church.
"We're not Methodist, but they deserved a good Christian burial right? And it was the closest," Amber explained.
She's been on her own in this little sleepy pseudo-farm town of Haven, Illinois ever since. Her family's home was a smallish little four bedroom, two toilet, but as the town emptied, either the dead being buried by their loved ones or perishing in the hospital, and she realized she was alone, she moved into a house of her choice: a sprawling blue and gray Queen Anne near the edge of town.
"It was the Rowlands. I always liked it, so I didn't think anyone would mind if I lived here for a while. It's not like it's going to be that long anyway." Amber confessed that she actually had to bury Mrs. Rowland and Baby Abigail, though and she doesn't go in that bedroom.
(I sympathized. I still can't cross the threshold of the bedrooms in my Gran's house. Yes, I've been back to tend the graves and wander the house. But never the bedrooms.)
One thing to be said for the Rowlands, they planned ahead. This house still utilizes the old root cellar and underground ice box and has a generator. Added bonus: Mr. Rowland was a fan of Ducati.
When I saw the bike, Amber asked if the Ducati and I needed some alone time.
Cheeky little sot that one is.