L.O.V.E. = Simply Contagious

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Glass that fell from the tall counter top table. Pieces of sharp stone were scattered upon the

kitchen floor. Tears only swelled up into my eyes. Tears of fear that someone will hit me, as

someone would usually do. A tall woman came into the room and witnessed the tragic

event. My crying and screaming only got louder as I smeared blood onto my face. The

woman had fine curly hair with an olive appearance. She wore a floral dress as it was

tugged by a small girl who was staring at me. A small girl who seemed about my age, with

staring eyes so dull and fixed onto me as if she was a doll. The women came in and raised

her hand within a quick movement. A moment that I had blinked, scared to feel the pain, the

tears, the disappointment of my own father. A gentle hand soothed my back, repeating

words of the women were finally understood, “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

It’s okay? I slowly open my eyes to see not a scowling face, but a smiling one. It was of

the woman. Her smile magically lighten and made my tears flee as she soothe my back.

“I’ll clean up this glass for you.” The woman walked away in search for a broom, as it was

only me, and the little girl on the ground of scattered glass. The little girl dig into her pocket,

funny how dresses have pockets these days, and took out a bandage with a yellow smiley

face on it. She tore it out of its paper wrapping and shoved it onto my face, where a wound

was bleeding. Her eyes still had a dull glare as if she was examining me for an experiment.

I quickly wiped some excess tears and slowly got up. The little girl and I were at the same

height. We had the same dirty blond hair. But her eyes were not blue as mine, they were a

pretty shade of gray.

As I got up, the little girl smiled. A smile so bright and similar to the woman. “You look

cooler now.” She smirked and giggled. “I have the same one, see?” The little girl lifted up

her dress and showed me her old scar, covered with the same smiley bandage. She

grinned wide as if it was her most prized possession. “Cool, huh?”

“Yeah.” I looked up at her, still smiling. “So, what’s your name?”

“Tell me yours first , and I’ll tell you mine.” For a little girl, she was very stuck up and

bossy, but I answered in a tone I’ve used when presenting myself.

“My name is Carter Sydehart, four years old, but turning 5 in December. I’m the heir to

the Sydehart family. And you are?”

“Wow. My name feels so boring Mr. My name is Carter Sydehart four years

old…December… of the Santa’s family. Well, I’m -----”

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The wind’s whistling accompanied my strumming of my guitar as the humming of song

continues with no open voice. My hair pierced into my eyes, which was awfully getting

annoying and distracting to continue with this song. I hesitated and stopped playing,

wondering what day of summer could it be as time just flies out of my hand. I laid my guitar

on the porch to get up and stretch, wiping my sweat with my wristband and staring out into

the lake of my backyard. That lake, was filled. Filled with memories, the loving and cherish

able memories. It was also filled with unforgettable, tragic ones too. I stared into the house

next to ours. It was getting old and creaky, as its white paint was ripping down against the

wood. Its abandoned, for now at least. It’s been ten years since I had a neighbor from that

house, a house filled with memories next to mine. I wavered my head back and forth,

forgetting the past and continued my guitar strumming as my usual summer day. The smell

of cigarette smoke lingered from my back, as I feel a presence of someone behind me.

“You’re not singing, Carter.” He said, and blew a breath fowl or grey smoke. “Sing

something. Your singing makes my day.” He smirked as he was staring off at the distance

of the lake.

“I can’t.” I stated in a indifferent tone, uninterested in singing to someone like him.

“Awww, and why is that Carter?” He dropped his burning cigarette onto the porch,

making the wood slightly damage by the burn of the cigarette.

“I could if there was fresh air around me instead of smoke. And Eric, at least pick up

your cigarette, and put it in a bin please.” I pouted in the heavy dew of smoke, to the point in

burns my eyes.

“I heard something cool from your pa. Care to know what it is?” Eric chuckled

mysteriously with his hands swaying in the pockets of his jacket.

“And what is it?” I asked in curiosity. Grandpa barely speaks to me or anyone to a

matter of fact.

Eric leaned over to my ear and whispered in his ghastly breathe, “Someone’s moving

in today. Into that house on your left there.” Eric pointed to the old creaky white house.

“Insane, huh? Isn’t that house haunted or something Carter?”

I couldn’t reply. I didn’t look. I just hesitated for a moment as my guitar pic slid out of my

fingers and crashed onto the porch floor like unforgettable sound of shattered glass.