• A soft laughter could be heard, the sound of it vibrated through the air. It, if that was what it should be called, had a near texture to it as it sounded. Like viola’s strings playing a deeper tone, not rough, not soft, firm yet gentle, it was a perfect sound. Trees in late fall stood, towering and cowering above and below each for the interim other, and their leaves lay covering the brown and green grass as a blanket over a small child in the night. A brisk warm wind scattering the leaves from time to time and then leaving them silent again.
    Against the sounds and elements around, as if in secret, another joined into the chorus. Tapping, like crackling ice in warm water pushing against the waves of a warming sea. An older woman in her early 60’s walked down the cracked stone walkway that led to the park. She wore dark violet high heel shoes and a long skirt that held close to her hips and spread itself gracefully out past her knees and over her ankles. To cover her upper body she wore a white button up shirt and a gray jacket that perfectly matched her skirt. Her hair was swept up into a neatly pulled bun except for three solemn hairs that dangled blatantly to the side of her face. Mrs. Chagren, or as some of her close friends called her, Samantha, was very nice kind and gentle as a person but did not like to be messed with, she loved children very much but did not seem to get their favor very well. Walking briskly down the path to see the park the laughter faded and stopped.
    Two sets of eyes stared at her from under the swing set, an unhappy glare rather than a curious glance. Smiling Samantha looked at the two strange children and tried to make peace.
    “Hello” she addressed to the older of the two children, he was maybe twelve or thirteen, slightly pale but very kind looking. His eyes were so blue, like ice or moonlight, his hair was too a cold icy white, the child looked like someone who had sat in cold water for far too long. The younger child was the same but maybe eight, like his older brother his icy eyes sparkled with a glittering brilliance, a reflection of the moon. Together they looked like clones of each other they even had the same hair cut, medium length and waved at the bottom to look like a silvery waterfall, caressing their cheeks and ears.
    “Hello” they sang back, as if in a harmonious synchronized chord.
    At the sound of the voices Mrs. Chagren took a step back, looking down and placing her hand on her forehead. IT was as if she had suddenly burst into an intense migraine that though pulsing would not fade, whispers of unheard words slipped through her head as she tried to reply yet again “please, how is your mother” was all she could say. As her words sounded the pain slowed in intensity, but only for the interim. She seemed to think that maybe if she made a pleasant response maybe, just maybe they would stop doing this to her.......no.