• Tears well into my eyes as I hang over the top of the seven foot high, vine covered chain link fence that surronds the private section of the Carlstown gravyard. I brush them away to clear my vision as I try to peer around the wall of grey and black formal, mourning clothes; praying for one last glimpse of Livia before she is lowered into the cold hard ground.


    Livia, my beautiful love, her face powder white and lined with perfectly applied make-up, is fresh from the mortician's brush when I finally catch a glimpse over her short mother's shoulder. Her headstone is carved from marble and her casket is wroght out of the finest wood. Only the best for the Westen's poor murdered daughter. The crowd of darkly clad mourners disperces quickly after the coffin is shut and lowered into the waiting mouth of the earth.


    Hate replaces my sorrow as I glimpse her father, Ted Westen. He turns from the others, a gaunt look forced upon his slightly relieved face, and pulls a bottle of something out of his pocket and drips it into his eyes. He caused this! When he had caught me in Liva's room a year ago he had turned his daughters life into hell. Screwing a peasent, a FEMALE peasent at that in his house, his daughter was done for. He bullied her, taunted her, teased, beat and abused her for a year, forcing his daughter into a depression so deep that she could not resurface. My love killed herself because of him!

    My disguist over rules the rest of my emotions and I climb down the fence quickly, scrambling away from the graveyard and back to the Center.


    The Center is just a homeless center for teenagers, each kid gets one of the three bunks in a room, they have food and cable TV. When I reach my room I curl into a small ball on my bed, my small, thin body about the size of a laudry basket when in this positon. I reach under the dirty blanket that I call a pillow and pull out the pictures of Livia, lying naked on my bed. I study the top picture, my dark haired love in her small pink bra and lavender panties gazing up at the camera. She's suckling her thumb as her other hand lays on her flat abdomen, in the process of snaking downward. Her nipples are poking out against the bra. But I focus on her face, her soft,innocent features. I can't help but feel lust rise in me at the longing look in her large expressive green eyes, the soft curve of her frail lips around the thumb and her cute little nose. Her brown hair spread around her head on the bed like blood.


    I feel a pang of guilt and longing as I gaze at her picture, wanting to taste her lips, or her skin one last time. I brush my long rusty red hair into my eyes as I finally allow the long pent up tears run down my face. At some point, though, I feel a pair of strong arms wrap around my shoulders and I glance into the hard and unreadable face of Griffon, one of my roomates. She pulls me against her strong frame and lets me cry out my heart and soul without a word. Then when I'm done she just releases me and leaves to go sit on her bed.

    As she does this, I study her big and strong frame. Griffon has alway been the quiet strong type, broody I guess. She stands a lot taller than most grown men and is more muscular than a high school gym teacher, her breasts are big but she has never had a girlfriend or boyfriend. I don't know why but she only answers to Griffon. She had a strong face and prominent jaw, her hair is cut short and died black. Her eyes black and beady under her wide forehead.


    I lay there until dark before I grab my backpack and head out to the graveyard, a plot hatching in my deranged mind.