I got nothing.

-I left the rest of the short story (36 hours to Daybreak) across town at the house. I know the suspense is killing you.

-I found myself leaning over the sink in the bathroom at work today. I was trying to make my tears fall into the drain and not on my face. "Pull it together, Morby!" (It was a mixture of work stress, moving, and still being 7 weeks away from seeing D every day... nothing new... the usual concoction of tears.)

-I have roughly 4 days of living alone left. (I hear a grandfather clock ticking somewhere.)

-There's a family at church with three kids that I've known for the past 4 years - I've taught at least one of their sons every year since I started. This year I have the two oldest boys in Youth. Last week the oldest runs up to me and says, "Miss Ginger! My brother is passed out on the floor!"

I look over to see his younger brother (6th grader, mind you) lying on the floor and trying not to smile. The older brother looks at me with the sides of his mouth curling up and proceeds to say, "He's not breathing. I'm pretty sure you need to give him CPR."

Listen, Squinz. I wasn't born yesterday. I told them that hands-only CPR was what the Red Cross now advised... and that you break a few ribs in the process. Both boys began laughing and ran off.

The End.