The Street Below
“The search for first year student, Margaret Mason has ended here, just outside the school dorms.”
Ginny reaches to touch the girl’s smiling face on the television screen. “I’m sorry, Margaret. I think I heard your screams.” Curiosity draws her to the window.
On the street below, a reporter stands in a camera’s intense glow. His lips begin to move.
Ginny hears his delayed voice creep up behind her. “Police say the girl was found dead inside this dumpster.”
Her attention returns to the television “I loved my first years away from home,” she says to the girl’s picture, now relegated to the upper right corner of the screen. “I too didn’t care about anything or anyone. I would shout to the sky for no reason, and squeal, no don’t, stop it, so the boys would know it was time to chase me.”
The camera pans the shocked, crying students. “Your party noises used to make me smile. Now they sound like the cries from a distant wolf.” The picture freezes on the parents pleading to the houses in the sky. “Help us, if you can.”
“What can I tell you? I think I heard her scream. It made me sit up in my bed. No, I didn’t see a thing. I’m tired of getting out of bed for nothing.”