Instantly, the door swings open.
“What!” her older sister screams.
“I want to see the lights,” the young girl responds.
“Grab your jacket, it’s chilly out there.”
The chandelier’s crystals reflect the light in the middle of the spacious white living room. There is not a speck of dust on the marble floor. Sounds of strings and woodwinds penetrate through each luxurious room. All is calm. The family is in preparation for an occasional interaction with others. Commonly, the family is alone with only each other for company. They don’t mind.
The daughter sits patiently at her vanity. Her reflection staring back at her. Her mother stands behind her and runs her long fingers through her fine black hair. She grabs the wooden brush and runs it from the scalp to the ends. Not missing a strand. Perfection. The son sits alone on the freshly waxed floors of his bedroom. The room is cold. Lights low. He walks over to his aged toy trunk at his bedside. The large trunk is dusty from years of neglect. He cracks the trunk open and small specks of dust float in the light air. He sticks his head in and pulls out a model red fire truck. The truck has a few dents, chipped paint, and missing a wheel on its front left side. The young boy’s perfection. The father calls out to his family. In a single file line, the pale family of four trailed across the shinning marble out the delicate glass front door. The cold from the boy’s room migrated throughout the home. The home is empty and lifeless.
Darkness. The blanket above their heads is a sea of blue clarity. There are only two single stars. The summer breeze passes through the daughter’s hair. Brushing gently against her forehead. Shadows of willow trees and rustic lap posts trace the path to the park. The son lingers behind the rest admiring the cracked details of the narrow sidewalk. The neighborhood surrounding them is still and quiet. In the distance, a lit area emerges from the twilight. The lights glare at the son's emerald eyes. He squints. The family draws closer to the park. Sound disturbs the innocence of night. Laughter and music increase in volume. The iron fencing separates the welcome from the unwelcome. The four walk along the damp grass. The water seeping between their toes. The park is crowded. Noise. Noise. Screaming. Yelling. Old men shouting. Young women drinking. The mother searches for a spot on the ground away from the others. She wants her family to be left alone. A lightly lit grassless area at the far end of the park catches the father’s attention. The spot is secluded. No one is around. The family can be alone. No one will harass them. There will be no need for distress. A wide hand-stitched blanket is placed on the bare ground. The four lay upon it.
A group of small shadows appear in front of the two children. The shadows are identified as children with sparklers in hand. Fire glittering in the air. Children their age. Children never come near them. They are always left alone.
“Hey, would you guys like to play with us?” the children ask.
Of course they do. The son and daughter look at their mother for an answer. Pleading in their eyes.
“Absolutely not,” the mother says firmly.
The son and daughter do not retort. Mother’s words are final. And they both understood that.
The family is left alone.
______________________________________________________________________________
Boom. The blank canvas sky is painted by gold flares. The sounds of the near festival penetrate the front door. The home is humid. The temperature preserved by the summer rays. The middle aged man stumbles down the carpeted stairs. Juice stains on every step. The Crayola Picasso scribbles along the green walls bring back memories of being under the influence. Drink in hand, he slips on the tattered linoleum floor. He is on his knees. He is a failure. She enters in through the front door. His girl. The aged difference is quite substantial. She, a freshman undergraduate and he, a retired veteran. His eyes blood-shot. Bang. She slams the door and rushes to get the sad middle aged man off his knees.
“There’s a Fourth of July festival you know,” she reminds him of their predetermined plans.
“Yeah, you ready?”
The two take the short cut. Through the cobblestone ally. An abundance of grey and burnished red beneath their feet. The unleveled ground would lead them to the lights. Darkness lied behind every corner. Silence. Only the insects beside their flip flops accompany them. The middle aged man is already gone. Stumbling on each brick, he slows the pair down. The girl holds him steady assuring security. His head spins. He pauses and stares at the light ahead. Boom. Boom. Boom. The glistening arms of the sparks stretch across the navy. A roar rattles in his brain. They’re calling him. They want him. He jets. Runs towards the lights. The rays beaming at his bare eye sockets. The noise gets louder. He is the center of attention. In the middle of the festival, he stands. Out of control. The noise gets louder. He screams. Louder. Louder. He crashes. On the floor. Lost. Scared. Innocent. She calls for him. His girl calls for him, but he is no where to be found. He finds his hands and lifts his weak body off the ground. He sways from side to side. Tripping on his feet below. The park is crowded. Crowded. The sea of color overwhelms him. He searches for another drink. Or even a cigarette. He needs to calm down. She calls for him. She calls for him. He’s no where to be found.
{btdubbs...it's not finished..yet}
The short story, Tell-Tale Heart, tells of a man's difficulty to cope with his housemate's eye. This drives him insane and later prompts him to kill the old man and hide him beneath the floor boards. When the police come by the house to investigate the noise, they do not suspect a thing. The narrator successfully got away with murder. So we thought. The man began to hear a loud beating sound. A sound he believed was the old man's heart. Unexpectedly, the man opens the floor boards exposing the body. 
