Self-confidence (March 18, 1959 – Wednesday late morning – Hattie B Stokes Elementary School Lebanon)
(based on fictious events – november 2023 – I dedicate my story to the memory of Sylvia Marie Likens))

„I guess ... I don't think I'm gonna do it."
„Yes, you will."
„Cathie, no ... "
„You'll see, you can do it. Everything will turn out fine."
„I don't know if it will."
„After all, you studied all last evening."
„Yeah."
„I tested you over break. You've got the numbers down pat."
Sylvia finally stopped contradicting herself and smiled nervously. She adjusted the lock of hair falling into her forehead and stared out the fogged window. The view from the second floor was bleak. March was here and the cold wouldn't and wouldn't go away. Wet snow fell from the gray sky, creating a slush on the ground. Sledding was out of the question, neither was snow ball throwing.
Let spring be here, thought the ten-year-old little girl.
„Do you remember what the teacher said last hour?" her best friend didn't give her a break.
Sylvia nodded.
„So you see. Hold on to those words. You'll be fine, don't worry ... let's get to class already. It'll ring in a little while anyway."

- o -

„Children, today I'm going to examining the rehearsal where I left off last time," the teacher said, turning the pages in her notebook, „ ... so the letter ... so the letter ... L."
She took off her glasses and looked around the classroom. „I have Sylvia here, first. Come, Sylvia, to the blackboard. Fix the „C" that's screaming in my notebook. Maybe it was only a misunderstanding, what do you say?"
Sylvia just rolled her eyes without a word and cast one last glance at her classmate sitting in the desk next to her. Cathy clenched her fists and showed them to her friend.
The girl stepped into the aisle, walked with slow steps to the chair, and stood in front of the blackboard. She crossed her arms in front of her; her fingers were intertwined.
She waited.
The calculus teacher stood up. „So let's try multiplication first ... Sylvia, tell us, what is three times three?"
„Nine."
„Right."
„And two times five?"
„Ten."
„Well done."
„Four times three?"
„T ... twelve."
„Excellent."
„How can we say five and five and five in a different way?"
„Five times three."
„And that´s it ... ?"
„Fifteen."
„Good, Sylvia, you know that ... now we´re going for dividing."
„Eight divided by two is ... "
„Four."
„If I divide twenty by two, how much am I left with?"
„Ten."
„Imagine there are 18 cherries in a bowl on the kitchen table. You're sitting behind it with two siblings. How do you divide the cherries evenly to keep everyone happy?"
„I think, I think ... "
Sylvia fell silent, her eyes narrowed, but she continued to move her lips with her mouth closed. Not a single word came out of her as she did so. Everyone in the classroom stared at her. Will she calculate the verbal example? Will she say she didn't know? Will she ...
Sylvia blinked and looked directly at the teacher. „I'll give each sister six cherries, and I'll have six left over."
„Excellent! That's the way I like you. You know how to work with natural numbers perfectly. That's why I'm giving you an „A" today."
Sylvia turned red with happiness and the teacher continued her praise.
„You're confident today, too. I watched your face with every answer. You have confidence written in it." The teacher turned to the students. „Remember, children. Knowledge is not everything. Being well prepared, learned, proficient in anything is always only half the battle. It is also necessary for each of you to believe in what you have learned and to be able to speak your knowledge, your thoughts out loud and confidently to others. Then people will surely like you... and you, Sylvia, can go sit down."
The happy girl scampered to her chair.
Cathie beamed as if she herself had just finished answering and gotten top mark.
Sylvia sat down and put both hands on her knees.
Cathie grabbed her friend's wrist and gently squeezed it.

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Contemplation 2 (July 25, 1965 – Sunday evening)
(based on actual events – october 2023 – I dedicate my story to the memory of Sylvia Marie Likens)

Sylvia was kneeling on the chair and gripping the back with both hands. She had an open book on the windowsill. For a while she read from it, for a while she dreamed, for a while she looked at the street through the open window. She fully enjoyed the rare moments when she could be alone in the room and she chose this unusual position because it best suited her agitated mood. Yesterday's conflict with Paula still resonated in her.
Oh, if only I had been ...
Rather, she pursed her lips, turned the page and continued on ...

1 There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens, 2 a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, 3 a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build, 4 a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance,

... May I say (sue!) Gertrude about what happened between us, or not? ... Will it help myself or rather hurt myself? ... Things are getting worse between the two of us ... or do I go straight to
her? ... No ... no ...

5 a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them, a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing, 6 a time to search and a time to give up, a time to keep and a time to throw away, 7 a time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak,

... I'll watch on her out on the street, it'll probably be better than here in the house ... and we'll explain things directly ... there's not much point in doing anything like that inside. ... everywhere is
stuffy ... too much tightly ... be as it may, but no one will touch my Jennie ... no one! ... simply I won't allow it! ...

8 a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace. 9 What do workers gain from their toil? 10 I have seen the travail, which God hath given to the sons of Adam ...

The doorknob clicked and Stephanie entered.
„Sylvia?"
The room continued to be gravely silent.
„Sylvia ... I don't like to disturb you, but mom is calling you. She's in the kitchen."
The focused girl stared intently at the swaying branches of the patulous oak tree. It didn't even seem she registered the Steph. She already opened her mouth to repeat the request of the lady of the house, but it didn't happen. Girl at the window suddenly turned around and stood up from her chair.
„I'll be right down," she replied in a low voice.
For a moment it looked like Stephanie was going to say something to her, but finally she nodded and left the room without saying a word.
Sylvia took the Bible, put a bookmark in it and closed it.
So maybe again tomorrow ... she sighed.
She walked over to the closet where she kept her clothes.
She quietly opened the glossy lacquered door, squatted down and carefully placed the book between her skirt and blouse, completely on the bottom shelf. She looked at her things with a critical eye. She was very satisfied. No one from the house could have guessed that she was hiding it here and why she is actually doing that ...
There is a time to wait and there is a time to act, she finally philosophized to herself, smiled and briskly ran out of the bedroom. She trotted to the stairs.

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Omission (August 21, 1965 – Saturday late morning)
(based on actual events – I dedicate my story to memory of Sylvia Marie Likens – august 2023)

„Do you have a list?"
„We have."
„Money?"
„Too."
„Empty bottles?"
Sylvia imperceptibly averted her eyes up.
„Yes!"
Both sisters were already ready and on their way out. Sylvia was twirling an empty net bag in the air on her left index finger and holding a paper sack in her right hand. Jenny turned on the doorknob as Gertrude's commanding voice came from the kitchen.
„Sylvia!"
„Please?"
„Turn around!"
The girl twisted.
„Come back!"
Sylvia was confused.
„I ... and why?"
„You forgot something."
The girl swallowed.
„Ah, I'm sorry ... bye ... bye ... mom."
„You didn't forget to say bye, really didn't ... but you did forget something other."
The girl just shrugged her shoulders and slowly, incomprehensible, shook her head. She suddenly didn't know what to do or what to say.
„You forgot to get dressed!" the lady of the house uttered an absurd sentence in an even more absurd tone and pointed contemptuously at Sylvia's light, summer clothes reaching just above the knees, with her bony index finger.
Sylvia involuntarily glanced at her pea-green dress densely studded with tiny, white dots. They were sleeveless and on both shoulders they were tied with white ribbons in the shape of large bows. She nervously traced a small semicircle on the floor with her pale pink slipper. She immediately widened her eyes after that. She didn't know whether to smile, or to be offended, or something else entirely. She was speechless and felt her face slowly turn red. She ran her hand through her hair.
Meanwhile, Gertrude was slowly approaching. Her boat heels rhythmically echoed louder and louder on the hard surface until she stopped at the edge of the corridor. She didn't go inside, she just leaned her shoulder against the door-leaf. „You forgot to get dressed, Sylvia," woman repeated her earlier statement in that strange, still calm voice, „you understand me, don't you?" she added after a moment of complete silence.

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Phoning (July 17, 1965 – Saturday late morning)
((based on actual events – I dedicate my short story to memory of Sylvia Marie Likens – July 2023)

„No."
„ ... "
„No!"
„ ... "
„I say no!"
„ ... "
„Mhmmm."
„ ... "
„John, I real don´t know."
„ ... "
„You´ve to think I can do magic!"
„ ... "
„I am feeding two more hungry girls´ necks. Teenage necks!"
„ ... "
„Johnny remains to stay with you and your majesty send Steph back to me?"
„ ... "
„It´s all you!"
„ ... "
„Yes."
„ ... "
„Well, well … yes."
„ ... "
„Oh, you finally got it!"
„ ... "
„Have to is a big master, but do not have to is bigger!"
„ ... "
„So, keep waiting!"
Gertrude slammed into the phone and flew out of the cab near the gas station. She turned over the center of the empty intersection directly to her house and walked quickly. She saw Sylvia from a distance. The girl was sitting on the terrace with an opened magazine on her knees.
„Get up, bookworm! Sooner or later, you'll earn the glasses, believe me. Girl, you're coming with me! We're both going to my ex-husband in Beech Grove. You'll meet another of my daughters who's on holiday with him. Her name is Steph. We'll bring her back home. So, jump down to the basement and bring a bucket of water. And a clean rag! We need to wash the windshield and the rearview mirror … let's not both of us end up behind the first turn in a ditch ... it would be a damage. Now I'm talking about sister´s car, not us. I´ll drive the machine. So move yourself … go on, go on … hurry up; we´ve only ten minutes!"
„And ... and Jennie?"
„She´ll wait for us here until we return. Don't worry; neither we nor she die till then ... and when you finish scrubbing the car, you must change the clothes! I forbid you to go there in these shorts! Do you understand?"
Sylvia nodded and entered the house without a word.
Gertrude walked to a chair and picked up what the girl had just read.

The Beatles MONTHLY BOOK No. 22 MAY 1965 2nd YEAR

******************************************************

Departing (October 23, 1965 – Saturday shortly before midnight)
(based on actual events – I dedicate my short story to memory of Sylvia Marie Likens - October 2022)

"Je ... nny ... Je … nnie … is it … not ... is it ... really … you?"
The girl kneeling next to her just nodded.
Her throat was tight with overwhelming grief and she was unable to utter a single word.
Sylvia recognized her sister by the tears she felt on her cheeks.
She couldn't have her own a long time ago.
"Don't cry ... Jennie ... don't cry ... "
"I'm not crying," she lied straight into her face.
Sylvia frowned and gritted her teeth as she moved her body a few centimeters.
"Honey ... can you ... give me some ... water?"
As if through a veil of mist, she watched when Jenny stood by the faucet, filling the mug, turned, walked to her, came as close as it was possible, holding the cup in both hands all the time. She left her crutches leaning against the railings by the stairs.
Finally, she knelt down again and put the mug near to sister's mouth. Sylvia parted her bitten lips. She drank slowly, shakily. Her teeth clicked against the metal as she did so. Although she spilled almost half of the cup on herself, her weak exhalation revealed relaxation.
"Oh ... I was little relieved. Thank you."
"Cookie, I am going to cover you with a ... "
"No … it … is not … necessary … I'm not cold ... I feel no pain ... I'm lying on my back ... without the movement."
Jenny fumbled for Sylvia´s clothes scattered around and began to cover her with them. The younger sister closed her eyes helplessly as her gaze drifted down to her freshly tattooed stomach and exposed chest with a large mark burned on it. She tried to raise head to tuck the tangled old rag under it, but Sylvia made a weak movement to show her clear disapproval.
"It's not need, my dear, no need. Don't put anything behind my neck ... my head is spinning ... sometimes I register you ... sometimes I don't ... now I see you in a blur ... twice, or ... or three ... "
Jenny stroked sister's hair.
"OH, OOOH ... Cookie! Cookie! I don't know how ... how to help you,
how ... Daddy will come next week, in just a few days; he swore to us. He swore it to us, both! I believe, I hope very much, I pray the whole day that we will both see him as soon as possible and he will take us away from here immediately … "
"Jennie, Jennie … you have to be ... to stay ... please stay … try … please try to be ... stronger than me," she said softly, adding hesitantly, "I know you don't want it … but I'm going to die ... I can tell."
Jenny started to cry louder. She grabbed one end of the rope with which Sylvia's arms were crossed and her wrists were bound, but Sylvia flinched.
"Don't untie me, Jennie. Please. They tied me up. They want me to stay like this. They didn't tighten my knots with strong force. Ropes don´t hurt me."
With an effort, she turned her head to the wall and groaned into the empty darkness. Then she turned back.
"Go upstairs, Jennie. Don't let them find you with me. Don't let them start hurting you. Oh … go, please," her voice grew suddenly louder with these words, and there was infinite tenderness in it.
Jenny knelt motionless. She still couldn't find the strength to get up and leave away.
"It will ... it will be the best. And then … I want to sleep... if I could take a nap... oh, that's when I feel best... oh, then I don't feel anything ... anything … anything … oh my
God! ... oh my God! ... " Sylvia whispered and her eyelids finally closed at the last word.

*****************************************************

Overcoming (September 4, 1965 - Saturday evening)
(based on actual events – I dedicate my short story to the memory of Sylvia Marie Likens – September 2022)

Open your eyes.
Rather not.
Just one of them.
No.
The second one. The right.
Not really.
You have nothing to fear.
Really?
You have my word of honor ... I promise.
Oh! ... no … NO!
You've seen it before.
I know.
Several times.
You are correct.
So what?
Later.
When?
Tomorrow.
Now is the right time ... you're here alone ... at that moment, you´re definitely alone ... you're waiting on this for all this day, since early morning.
Yes, I know.
Maybe it looks better? Well … just a little better? Don't you want to see it for your own satisfy?
I do not believe. It's not worth it.
Just try. You don't have to be worried at all.
But I'm scared.
There is no one anywhere.
I hear sounds ... knocking ... on the floor, somebody´s shoes? ... hey, hey ... someone just coming ... straight to me.
Don't be silly. Nobody goes. It beats your scared heart. Calm down.
Oh my God!
Come on! Come on! Come on!
I can´t do that.
Why?
I don´t want.
Why?
I repeat it again, as I said, tomorrow.
May I ask why?
Oh, shut up! Shut up, please … SHUT UP!
Okay … as you say ... will you turn around and just leave?
I'm not leaving ... okay ... so ... I'll take a look. Really ... just for one moment ... For God´s sake, I guess for the hundredth time ... you talked me into it, again!
With her narrowed eyes, Sylvia stepped closer to the mirror. She reached out and touched the shiny hard surface. She stroked the side edge with her thumb and forefinger to delay as much as possible the necessary moment when she would face the face of herself and the terrible reality again. Oh, that memorable Wednesday! She swallowed the first saliva ... and then the second, carefully opening both lids. She hissed briefly.
She stared at herself. The polished area revealed in detail the giant monocle on the right. Her eye swelled properly. She saw almost nothing through him. The color of the lid changed to dark blue. The bruise stretched to the cheek and the edges played yellow-green.
She didn't have the courage to touch her fingertips on that fresh, still sore spot.
She watched her injury motionless … and suddenly felt something wet and warm on both cheeks.
Fortunately, the inner voice, somewhere deep inside her, was finally silent.

- o –

Instantly, someone in the hallway pressed the handle.
Energetically, but in vain.
Despite this finding, the person did not relieve and pushed it again and again, somebody twitched by door constantly, with increasing impatience.
Somebody tried it with all its strength, on and on.
The door slammed against the doorframe, the lock rattling, but it didn't let go a millimeter.
"Sylvia! Open up! Right now! You have been already in the bathroom for a half an hour! And alone. That's enough! Can you hear me? Unlock the door … immediately!" A teen´s girl's nervous voice echoed through the locked door; it was distinctive, though it creaked, and strangely, there was a hint of fear in it. The voice was spreading across the whole floor.
Tormented girl turned her back on the mirror.
And ... she stopped.
She hesitated.
She stood barefoot on the linoleum, staring at the metal key, tucked in a small black hole ...
And Sylvia was waiting, just waiting … and waiting and waiting and waiting … without a movement.

*****************************************************************

Photographing (18.07.1965 – Sunday afternoon)
(based on partly actual and partly assumed events , I dedicate my story to Sylvia Marie Likens - July 2022)

„Hold on a second, Cookie. I´ve the camera here. Look. I want to make some new photos with you. After all, your last photos are from Easter ... I know you like Brookside park very much. You´re asking me who told me that? Of course Jennie! And although the weather is not ideal for swimming today, I'm glad that we went here together ... you can enjoy the pool and the fun in it another time; summer has just begun ... see here, these stone steps will be quite a nice background for you, what are you saying? So fine, let's go... Oh my God, I'm just a leaky head! I forgot a new twenty-four picture film in the car ... that annoys me! Hm ... hmm ... I have no choice but to take remaining photos on this belt, which is installed in the device. On the film there are ... there are the last three free pictures as I´m watching, but what can I do?! Nothing! So we must not spoil a single shot.
Lean forward a little, Sylvia ... that´s it. Wow, your hair´s fantastic testify! ... And finally, please have a huge smile! A little more bit! ... This is it! ... Now don't move! Yes! CLICK!
Cookie, jump on this low wall. And stretch out your hand as if you were reaching for a branch from that mulberry tree. Look how it is covered in berries. I'll try to get them in the viewfinder as well... Excellent. Spread your fingers and pluck a few ripe fruits.
CLICK! ... Watch out for your shirt! When you pop the berries, you won't just get rid of that deep color... well, your fingers and face will definitely be red. It doesn't matter, right? The main thing is that you like them ... eat, eat as much as you can.
I look at my watch; we´ll have to come back slowly. The last clear image on the film remains. What do you suggest, Cookie? Choose the scenery yourself ... Hmmm? Would you prefer the bridge over the creek? Will you lean on the railing and look into the water? ... And before that, what do you want? Are you going to pluck meadow flowers to throw them one by one downstream? Okay, okay... I'll wait. We still have so much time... I'll sit on this bench for now, yesterday really took a toll on me. Actually, not only to me, but also to Benny. He worked as hard as a grown man. I'm proud of him."
The curly-haired man in his forties pulled a handkerchief from his plaid jacket and wiped his sweaty forehead. He watched in silence as his daughter bounced around until she ran to him with her arms full of flowers. He was smiling at her.
„What a beautiful bouquet! And don't you want to take it with you to put it in a vase? No? And won't you be a little bit sorry to get rid of it right now? Oh, sure no, I already know you ... you'll pick up a new one at the nearest opportunity ... hey, hey, I see ... so let's go to the bridge ... why are you still looking around? Are you waiting for someone to come here? ... No? So then? You mean, it's a shame that we are lonely here? I don´t understand. And why,
Cookie? ... What? Do you need some passersby now? And why on earth? ... Wow, to get us together! I see! You want a picture with daddy! That's a great idea! ... So do you know what we're going to do, Sylvia? We'll come back, down the path to the pool, and I'm sure we'll meet some kind soul , who will do it for us. We are going to leave the bridge with that lovely creek. Our last photo, which will be born in a moment, must be worth it!"

*****************************************************************

Splashing (October 18, 1965 - Monday shortly before midnight)
(based on actual events , I dedicate my short story to the memory of Sylvia Marie Likens – October 18, 2021)

The constrained, fuggy room was immersed in the darkness.
There was a grave silence in it.
The air was soaked with cigarette smoke and smelled of ash from the fire.
Glowing coal fell through the gate in the heated oven.
The wooden railing groaned.
Dusty stairs creaked.
One pair of legs was descending carefully, but hurriedly down them, until they reached the last lowest step.
Unexpectedly, they stopped hesitantly.
After a moment, a free-hanging hand reached for the wall.
The joined fingers disengaged, fished for something and the stretched finger pointed to a certain point like an arrow.
At the last moment, they froze in the air.
Apparently in the last second, they changed the mind and didn't touch the light switch.
The hand withdrew with its fingers falling back.
Suddenly, a lightning illuminated the tight space with a blinding flash.
The flickering glow had not yet resounded, and the air was already carried by the intensifying thunder.
Not a single leaf moved on trees.
It still didn't rain.
Someone´s legs moved again and descended to the cement floor.
Bare feet scuttled and aimed to the corner.
The desired goal was waiting for them there.
"Sylvia, I am bringing you a drink … right now" a low, hoarse voice said in the darkness.
Not waiting for an answer, the human being leaned forward.
The first heavy raindrop scattered on the outer sill of the ground floor window.
Then, with a buzzing sound, more and more were followed.
The wind was still not rising, the buzzing of oncoming rain was clearly heard from a short distance.
The rustling sounds of the descending cloudbursts drowned out everything else.
For the second time it thundered, louder and longer than before; this time without flashing.
Steel stick fell from some roof with a thud to the ground.
And then steady stream of falling water blanked out the view of a neighboring house standing in close proximity.
Long minute passed.
The dark figure in the corner finally straightened up and stepped back a step.
"... and that's it! YES!" The exhalation, accompanied by extraordinary relief, sounded louder than before of the same mouth through the basement.
One more second and the legs moved in the opposite direction.
They came up the first step and stopped in embarrassment.
The hand reached to the top of the pants and continued a little lower.
Fingers felt an open slit in the pants.
The 12-year-old boy firmly gripped the metal zipper puller between his thumb and forefinger.
He pulled him up with a mocking grimace on his face.
Phew! ... I´ve been saving it inside of myself since the afternoon, he grinned, and ran upstairs with ease.
His name was John Baniszewski junior.

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The basement (October 12, 1965 – Tuesday)
(the day, when Sylvia was sent to the basement for "not keeping herself clean"- I dedicate my writing to the memory of Sylvia Marie Likens – October 12, 2021)

Basement is not always about underground. Not even about the small space. It's not just about gloom or darkness and it's not just about stink or stale air. I also mistakenly thought that it was only about loneliness. The necessity of lighting weak bulb or a few flickering candles never calm. On the contrary, the deceptive light in a person evokes a relentless foolish feeling, as if the opposite walls were to collapse – at any moment. Especially during nights. Basement seldom breathes placidly, but gasps almost every time. Basically, it can never be completely cleaned up. Dust is the basis of it, regardless of whether it is clay, carved in rock or built of blocks glued with mortar. At the same time, it relentlessly stretches its cold and wet tentacles. It is not alive, and it is not dead. Of course, basement likes bad ghosts that appear in the most unexpected places and disappear when they want and in the way they want. Basement does not spread sound outside of itself but has its own echo within itself. It will drown everything that is born in it. It's the bottom. Symbolic also literal.
For me, every single one has become the reminder of YOU. Since I´ve met you, I've been entering any underground space with the idea ... that once, and not so long ago, you ...
Eight, or nine wooden steps led to the place, where ten, twelve, fifteen-year-old bounders and their thirty-seven-year-old commander put you away as a corrupt, dirty, unnecessary thing? Yes, like thing! They locked you up the first day. It was not enough for them. The next day they tied your wrists and ankles. It was not enough for them. On the third day, they tied you with your hands over your head, against the railing, so your feet would not touch the ground. And it was still not enough for them. It wasn't enough for them until you stopped breathing.
And the court? Pure shame, but the judgment of man is not the judgment of God.
None of the murderers uttered words of regret on the trial or after the hearing. None of the murderers apologized. None of the murderers admitted the share of your death. Excuses came out of their mouth, idiotically and embarrassing, like smoke from an exhaust. The first was said to be sick. The second was told to do. The third allegedly did not know what he was doing. The fourth just stared. The fifth had fun because it was said to be an exciting game. The sixth asked his parents at dinner if is right to do such things to a girl, but ...
After endless days and endless nights, your suffering is over forever.
Their suffering has been just starting.
Sylvia!
Sylvia!
I am sure that I am speaking for everyone, every single member of your / our international family on the globe, who sit with you here and now, that in this second we would get up from computers, mobile phones and run to that hated house, if it would be
possible ... disassemble, break him into pieces, though with bare hands, and take you and Jennie away ...
Oh, if … if … if … !
… and so we spend our time with you in this way.
We are thinking of you.
We pray for you.
We write to you.
We draw your portrait.
We love you.
We know you're with us.
We are together.
You there and we here.
We believe that it will not be so long and each of us will take you in our arms.
Not for save you.
But to hug you endlessly.
Hi, Cookie!
Hi, Cookie!

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Thinking of you (October 6, 2021 – Wednesday evening)

Today is the last day, of that unfortunate year, when you passed through the main entrance of Arsenal Tech High School. Hmm ... Wednesday.
Maybe it was a rainy day, maybe a sunny day; maybe it was warm or cold.
It may also be the last day you stayed, where teacher tested you in math or history or biology or any other object. Perhaps you answered his questions, quietly, in front of all the boys and girls who knew you, looking at you and talking to you during a few weeks ago. Maybe your teacher wrote you mark A or B or C or worse. Maybe not.
Maybe it is also the last day you ate your last lunch in canteen. Soup? Meat? Potatoes? Or something else?
And after that … I think, you walked by foot into the house … slowly, very slowly; to the devil´s house, which looked like all the other houses on the long street.
Nobody of us know, what happened inside in that afternoon.
Nobody of us know, what happened inside in that evening.
Nobody of us know, what happened inside next morning.
Only one circumstance is clear; Sylvia Marie, you did not come to the 10th class on Thursday. The same thing happened on Friday. And next week. You never came again. No one noticed this fact. Or … am I wrong? Maybe one or two students caught your absence, whispered about it during breaks, but did nothing.
My contribution here is neither a small part of the chronology of past events, nor an accusation of anyone from 1965, just an attempt to write short memory of you, Sylvia Marie. For me, you will forever remain a beautiful 16-year-old student, who carried desires that were never fulfilled. No, that's not the true ... now, RIGHT NOW, you are fulfilling all your desires in heaven. This is the true. You deserve this. And nothing else matter.
God bless you, Sylvia Marie.

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Meeting (September 18, 1965 - Saturday evening)
(based on actual events – I dedicate my short story to the memory of Sylvia Marie Likens – September 2021)

"Hey, you!"
Sylvia's heart started to pound louder, but she didn't stop. With the unchanged rhythm of her small footsteps, she walked silently down the long narrow corridor.
"Hey, you! I'm talking to you! Or are you pretending to be deaf?!" The words sounded more poisonous than the first time.
The girl was embarrassed. She stopped without turning. Of course, she would recognize that voice also in the middle of the night.
Paula. She was standing in the bathroom door; her hair was wrapped by the headscarf. She had just showered. Big towel was covered fat body.
"Which command I gave you?" she muttered between her teeth.
Sylvia was being remained in silence. She had no idea what the second most important person after Gertrude in this house was thinking about now. A warning signal flashed in her brain that she must turn against her will. Immediately. At a minimum. So she twisted.
"I don´t ... know what´s on your mind," she said, almost in a whisper.
"You don't know ... so you're making a fool of me … and want to piss me off."
"Oh no! I ... "
"DO – NOT – YOU – DARE – COME – BE – FORE – MY – EYES! I spelled this sentence for you. You will avoid me. Under ever circumstances. I warned you what would happen otherwise. And you are spitting my words. You're just walking up and down the corridor when I am here, which is explicitly forbidden for you! Do you exactly know that meaning?"
Sylvia covered her face with her hands.
"It´s this!" exclaimed Paula.
She grabbed the hair hardener from the shelf and weight it in her palm.
She took a step forward, narrowed her eyes, aimed carefully and duly swung.
She threw the spray straight at the girl with a big momentum.
The container hissed in the air and struck Sylvia in the top of the head. She yelled, staggered for a moment, then slid down as if undercut.
Standing motionless, Paula watched the fall, with a wide smile on her face.
'Maybe this asshole will be more careful next time' she thought and wild joy effused in her heart.
Then, without a word, she went back to the bathroom and closed the door behind her.
She reached for the perfume.
'Thirty more minutes … oh my sweetheart, I can´t wait to see you!'

*****************************************************************

Contemplation (July 7, 1965 - Wednesday evening)
(based on actual events , I dedicate my short story to the memory of Sylvia Marie Likens – April 2021)

"... are you sleeping, Cookie?"
"Far from it! I'm looking at the ceiling."
"That´s great you don´t ... let's talk."
"Okay ... Jennie, today I counted all the places where our family has lived so far. Do you know how many times?"
"Hmmm?"
"Fifteen times."
"Wow!"
"By jingo ... By jingo! And again, it'll take me a while to get used to falling asleep on
another ... the sixteenth times ... in this foreign house."
"It is ... morose ... I don't even like him. What are we going to do?"
"And what bothers you?"
"Almost nothing. Namely ... everything."
"Although we're pushing on the same mattress, but we are together."
"Gertrude is kind of annoyed. She has also ... weird eyes … glowers with them."
"Not Gertrude, but 'Mom.' She constantly emphasizes that we should name her in this way."
"I´ve only one mommy. My own."
"We´ll be able to endure this for a few weeks, don't you think?"
"It seemed to me that she smiled affectedly on our daddy during his visit. Cookie, I'm also sad that they finally made agreement, so we have to stayed here. I'd rather we didn't have to stay here at all."
"Dad said only for this month. We will definitely make it."
"Well ... I'd rather spend my holiday with my grandma in Lebanon. I haven't seen her since the last summer."
"If our grandpa lived, maybe it would work ... but unfortunately she's getting more and more sick. We'll be fine in Indianapolis too, you'll see. I'll take you to the skating rink. We would definitely haven´t this in Lebanon. I will teach you to skate."
Jennie was already inhaling. Sylvia noticed her dismissive defensive attitude in time and would not let her speak.
"I know what you want to say. Don't be afraid of anything. You can do that. Also with a support device on the foot. I will hold your hand and guide you. Slowly. Very slowly. We´ll go straight along the barrier. Don´t worry."
The girl nodded her sister with eyelashes.
"Cookie, when I was sitting and reading in the kitchen at the table last night, I was completely shocked. Gertrude has so few dishes on the unit! A few bowls, two or three pots, some plates ... but I didn't see any cutlery. I searched in vain for a fork, I didn't find ... a single one. Just few spoons!"
"This family lives modest life. I haven't discovered washing machine in the house yet. I wonder how we're going to wash our clothes. Probably just in the bathtub ... although I found one door, but they were locked. And the key … nowhere. Maybe ... maybe they lead to the basement. And Gertrude has the washing machine down there."
"Cookie, we'll tell Dad everything we've discovered, and perhaps what we'll find out next … "
Jenny said this sentence with a yawn.
"I guess you're tired of talking. Shall we go to the realm of dreams? "
"Hmmm ... Cookie and do you dream of your Mike?"
Sylvia softly flicked sister's nose.
"Sure I'll tell you tomorrow morning."
Jenny grabbed her hand, tangled her fingers with hers, and squeezed her palm.
"Cookie, can we pray together? ... Even though it's not Sunday?"
Sylvia agreed and began quietly.
"Angel of God, my guardian dear … To whom God's love commits me here … Ever this day, be at my side … To light and guard, rule and guide … "

*****************************************************************

Watchkeeping (January 3, 1959 – Saturday early evening)
(based on fictitious events , I dedicate my short story to the memory of Sylvia Marie Likens – February 9, 2021)

A train hissed in the distance.
Water poured under the bridge.
It didn't flow wildly, it just lazily rolled from bank to bank and plopping silently.
The gravel-strewn sidewalk was disappearing behind the bend.
And the sky?
As far as the eye could see, there was a uniform milky gray blanket, except the bottom of the horizon, where the sun was setting. Here shone through a soft pink light.
Sylvia stood on the bridge.
Steam rose from her nostrils.
She stroked the iron railing lightly, though the frost crawled under her fingernails.
She was waiting.
And tilting her head, looking up.
Little girl was eager and excited.
Happy.
The child looked exactly like it could not wait for an extraordinary gift.
She was quite alone in the area; only with a river, a bridge and ... the sky.
Will I see it at all?
When will it come?
And will it be today, now, for me on such a special day?
"You'll get it," watercourse sang.
"You'll get it," bridge creaked.
"You'll get it," heaven whispered.
When?
In a moment?
I've been standing here for almost a quarter of an hour and nothing is happening!
And suddenly ... the first glittering star landed on her face.
The second one slid onto the wind-jacket.
The third covered the sidewalk.
More and more stars were flowing on the little girl.
Hundreds. Thousands. Millions. Billions.
First snow of this year kissed her on the lips, caressed her hair.
"You´re welcome," Sylvia laughed.
The flakes smiled at her and fell thicker and thicker.
She got it!

**********************************************************************

Washing (October 6, 1965 - Wednesday afternoon)
(based on actual events , I dedicate my short story to the memory of Sylvia Marie Likens - October 22, 2020)

Sylvia turned on the water tap. It seemed to her that she finally would have a few moments only for herself. Did everyone disappear from the house somewhere? It looked like that. Thank God! And Jenny, tired, fell asleep. The girl was glad she could hide down into the dark basement from Paula, Ricky and other kids and wash the skirt she wore every day in the sink.
"I see, you thought of doing something useful."
Frightened, Sylvia immediately turned. "Mom" was breathing on her back. She came inaudibly and was now leaning against the unplastered chimney. She just stood there, motionless.
Sylvia didn't know what to say. Washing her own belongings in the basement was in accordance with agreed rules issued by Gertrude shortly after their arrival at the house. She was quickly thinking about the last hours if she had done anything wrong. ‚Am I again guilty?' She couldn't find anything bad in her mind, but that didn't mean the things were okay.
Nevertheless, Gertrude mysteriously smirked at Sylvia. "Are you doing well?"
She nodded. "Yes. I'll be done in a few minutes. My skirt is washed. I am going to rinse it several times in the water and I'll be finished."
The woman agreed. She pulled a half-empty box of cigarettes from her pocket and picked one out. She lit it and was blowing the bluish smoke to the ceiling in small wheels.
"Did something happen?" Sylvia wanted to break the cold silent.
"Nothing happened. I came to see how it looks like here. I haven't been down for a few weeks. The last time was at the end of the summer."
She walked slowly to the stairs and walked beside the concrete wall to the opposite corner. She looked around with black eyes, inquisitively. Along the way, she crossed the scattered smaller or larger masses of junk; she pushed back a three-legged wooden chair and almost slipped upon piles of old rags. She stopped in the angle, next to the small window. The dusty glass barely let in daylight. Gertrude was staring through the hole out for a long time, then knocked the ash from the cigarette on the floor and turned back.
Sylvia had just finished the third rinsing. The water in the sink was quite clean. She was pleased. She raised the plaid skirt with green-gray pattern to eye level and looked at it in the light of a glowing light bulb. At first, she was worried that the tomato stains would remain visible. She exhaled in alleviation. The ocher color, dominating the fabric, remained really ocher.
Great! I'll have it ready to the school. The skirt is guaranteed to dry by tomorrow. And I'll combine it... wow! my favorite striped turtleneck up to my neck! So far, it's not so cold outside to pull out my autumn jacket. I love this outfit! Most of all!
She smiled, happy, just like Gertie had a moment ago. Maybe, that's why she didn't notice "Mom" standing behind her back again. She only noticed the crooked figure when she felt the fresh smoke she blew on Sylvia's neck.
Sylvia briskly slung the skirt over the stretched cord to begin to dry and turned to Gertrude.
The woman held out a clenched palm holding a burning cigarette and, without hesitation, placed it directly on the girl's bare skin, just below the elbow.
She left the scorching tip pressed against the body.
Her bony fingers of her right wrist steely gripped Sylvia´s forearm.
"In this way, I will teach you not to steal," she hissed.

**********************************************************************

Cute dialogues (January 3, 1954 - Sunday early morning)
(inspiration for writing was my night dream , I dedicate my short story to the memory of Sylvia Marie Likens - January 3, 2020)

Snowflake: "Why is it … when I fall on the ground, I always melt?"
Sylvia: "I think, my dear little star, or from the warmth of man, or from your hot tears over him."
Snowflake: "Should I die in my own tears? Better not ... it is always easier to leave, if we knew happiness before."
Sylvia: "So take a look ... "
And the snowflake lovingly, quite close, looked into her deep, dark brown eyes. After a while she disappeared away on the window with a smile ...
Sylvia closed a window into a snowy garden. Today is her great day. Unusual anniversary! She is celebrating birthday. And not just any … the fifth. Yes, Sylvia has right now, today, amazing five years!
The window sill creaked gently as she stood up. She stroked her pressed little knees, looked back again at the uncommon box tied with a giant pink bowknot that she´d laid next to her.
She´d been enjoying her present for an hour, but she couldn't resist looking inside once more.
Yes! It is there! Wow! Now I'm going to have breakfast and then … we'll be together the whole day!
Sylvia´s shining eyes were like two sparks.
Set table in the kitchen waited patiently for her. The little girl settled on her chair. She picked up the large red cup full of fresh fruit tea with both hands, and she started slurping the tasty drink with great flavor …
Jennie, are you already awake, or are you still dreaming in your bed? I´m so eager to show you, what I´ve received!
The short desire flew through her head, she wiggled gracefully and the blonde curls of thick hair spilled on all sides of her head.

- o –

A door slammed upstairs. The inner glass panel clanked and a random observer could hear the patter of small feet.
Sylvia jumped up.
"Jennie? Is that you? ... Come on, here, come quickly. Aha, I found this huge box this morning. Daddy and mommy promised me before Christmas that they would fulfil my big dream on my birthday. And here is it! Hooray!"
Only a year younger sister, in light green pyjamas and knitted slippers, was coming down the stairs.
"Cookie? Show me, please ... Yowza! … she´s amazing, so wonderful!"
"From Nancy Ann Dolls, Jennie! Whee!"
"She looks so realistic. Isn´t she alive? Oh … and her dark brown eyes! And chubby cheeks. Like yours, Cookie! She smiles at you and me too. I've never seen such a gorgeous doll!"
"She´s looking on us right now, so her eyes are open … but they can simply close. Look Jennie … I'll put her on the table ... well ... she is lying and eyes are already closed. Now she is going to sleep. When I take the doll in my arms, she opens both and gazes on me only. Yippee!"
"Cookie Cookie, what cute chequered clothing! With blue-gray squares. And inside that big ones are the small squares. The creamy colour … I just touch … Wow! She has warm dress. Is that flannel? She won't be cold at all. There is the wide yellow belt around the waist. Our mom, when she is dressed up, is wearing a similar one. Dark blue, you know, with a white double ripple and silver buckle... see, Cookie ... on her chest two girdles are fastened onto two light blue buttons. There is one on each side. They're real. You have the same buttons on your clothes. Sure, accurately … and I see new two buttons, at the back. One is above the yellow giant bow which is through half the back … and the other is on the bottom at the end … to fasten her dress, isn´t it?"
"Yes. Both ends of the bow are tied on her back. The other buttons are hidden under the bow. On the top of the head the doll is decorated with one small bowknot in hair. It´s also yellow, can you see, Jennie?"
"Sure, I can. I can't take my eyes off her! … and you also put bow in your hair, Cookie. You like the white most. You´ve never forgotten to take your one on Sundays, when we walk to the church always together."
"Put her on the floor. Woohoo! She reaches your knees, Jennie."
"How big the doll is. Although, she´s a baby, of course ... and how old she is, Cookie?"
„Three years old. She´s celebrating her birthday today too ... she has booted white sandals on her small legs. Adorable. They're on straps. In our room, we can unclip them and take them off. I'll put on her slippers, which left me after Lottie. When spring comes, I´ll go for a walk with her. Then I´ll take them on again. I certainly can't take her outside now, there is snow anyway. She could get sick immediately … Let's play with her upstairs, Jennie. I'm not hungry anymore. I drank tea, and I'm fine. Hmmm? I´m so eager!"
"Me neither. We'll eat later. Let's go, let's go, let´s go... and ... what's her name, Cookie? Have you found a name for her yet?"
"Of course, I have. It's my Lulu! I´m her mommy and you come to visit me. Huh! Firstly, I need to brush her hair. She can´t have messy hair … You will knock in a jiffy, okay Jennie?"
"I have a hairbrush, Cookie! I'm going to find it among my stuff."
Sylvia grabbed the doll with both hands and for a few moments she soothed and rocked Lulu in her arms. Then she looked to her face quite close and gave her gentle kisses. One small kiss on her right cheek and the second on her left.
"And now, my dear Lulu, we are going upstairs. I'll show you, where you´ll be living. I´ll share my bed with you, don´t be afraid. You´ll never be alone," she tweeted with a smile to her new doll. She stroked Lulu´s dense rich curls and together with Jenny, all three left the kitchen.
"Lulu's long hair is like a fairy tale princess. Your image, Cookie. Do you notice?" Jennie was borne away by the early morning and pleasant experiences.
Sylvia just smiled softly, not saying a word aloud.
Pop certainly read my thoughts, when he chose Lulu for me in the store, she thought to herself.
If they had waited just for a minute, they would definitely observe full loaded sledge outside. Sled was running on the squeaking snow between the houses. Several new centimetres of fresh snow fell during the night. Snow was glittering on the roofs in the morning sun rays. White smoke rose from many chimneys to the azure sky.
Coachman, muffled up in furs, sat on a wooden bench at the beginning of the sled. He was carrying huge and heavy cargo, the lot of pots raw´s milk straight from the farm. The thill-horses, one white pony and the second one brown, shivered with long manes, wagged with tails cheerfully and shook by heads. Then they briefly neighed, one by one. Thick vapor was coming from their nostrils. Harmonic sounds from the bells, which were tied around their necks, spread out louder and louder. Into the far surroundings there were heard never-ending jingles.

**********************************************************************

Evil Verses
(I dedicate my poem to the memory of Sylvia Marie Likens - October 26, 2019, 03:00 p.m.)

how were they started these unhappy events
and what caused their sad end?
was it real fate, to enter that devil house
and a while there to spend?

please, reader, take a seat
and just try to feel deep helplessness,
dear reader, don´t ask me,
i have no answers, only God has

when evening sunset was coming,
darkness of your true story increased in madness more,
as the morning sun was rising,
no relief and what else did you have to prepare for?

when midnight yelling sounds,
were spreading out and upwardly,
big moon hid its full face
and all stars turned off, abruptly

when massive drops of the downpour,
were knocking on the basement,
people were closing ears and eyes,
through the whole streets, adjacent

when suddenly hit really harsh storm
and damaged the branches of trees,
myriad of material daemons,
purposely appeared, in reprise

when dense fog was falling,
on the dirty muddy leaves-covered ground,
you, cursed and lost princess,
you were inaudible as ultrasound

when you were just growing and flowering,
like unique precious little bud,
horrific beings started kicking you
and you were mercilessly plucked

who walked around, who then came,
to wipe last tear, when you cried?
who ran to you, who then knelt,
to close your eyes, when you died?

Self-confidence (March 18, 1959 – Wednesday late morning – Hattie B Stokes Elementary School Lebanon)
(based on fictious events – november 2023 – I dedicate my story to the memory of Sylvia Marie Likens))

„I guess ... I don't think I'm gonna do it."
„Yes, you will."
„Cathie, no ... "
„You'll see, you can do it. Everything will turn out fine."
„I don't know if it will."
„After all, you studied all last evening."
„Yeah."
„I tested you over break. You've got the numbers down pat."
Sylvia finally stopped contradicting herself and smiled nervously. She adjusted the lock of hair falling into her forehead and stared out the fogged window. The view from the second floor was bleak. March was here and the cold wouldn't and wouldn't go away. Wet snow fell from the gray sky, creating a slush on the ground. Sledding was out of the question, neither was snow ball throwing.
Let spring be here, thought the ten-year-old little girl.
„Do you remember what the teacher said last hour?" her best friend didn't give her a break.
Sylvia nodded.
„So you see. Hold on to those words. You'll be fine, don't worry ... let's get to class already. It'll ring in a little while anyway."

- o -

„Children, today I'm going to examining the rehearsal where I left off last time," the teacher said, turning the pages in her notebook, „ ... so the letter ... so the letter ... L."
She took off her glasses and looked around the classroom. „I have Sylvia here, first. Come, Sylvia, to the blackboard. Fix the „C" that's screaming in my notebook. Maybe it was only a misunderstanding, what do you say?"
Sylvia just rolled her eyes without a word and cast one last glance at her classmate sitting in the desk next to her. Cathy clenched her fists and showed them to her friend.
The girl stepped into the aisle, walked with slow steps to the chair, and stood in front of the blackboard. She crossed her arms in front of her; her fingers were intertwined.
She waited.
The calculus teacher stood up. „So let's try multiplication first ... Sylvia, tell us, what is three times three?"
„Nine."
„Right."
„And two times five?"
„Ten."
„Well done."
„Four times three?"
„T ... twelve."
„Excellent."
„How can we say five and five and five in a different way?"
„Five times three."
„And that´s it ... ?"
„Fifteen."
„Good, Sylvia, you know that ... now we´re going for dividing."
„Eight divided by two is ... "
„Four."
„If I divide twenty by two, how much am I left with?"
„Ten."
„Imagine there are 18 cherries in a bowl on the kitchen table. You're sitting behind it with two siblings. How do you divide the cherries evenly to keep everyone happy?"
„I think, I think ... "
Sylvia fell silent, her eyes narrowed, but she continued to move her lips with her mouth closed. Not a single word came out of her as she did so. Everyone in the classroom stared at her. Will she calculate the verbal example? Will she say she didn't know? Will she ...
Sylvia blinked and looked directly at the teacher. „I'll give each sister six cherries, and I'll have six left over."
„Excellent! That's the way I like you. You know how to work with natural numbers perfectly. That's why I'm giving you an „A" today."
Sylvia turned red with happiness and the teacher continued her praise.
„You're confident today, too. I watched your face with every answer. You have confidence written in it." The teacher turned to the students. „Remember, children. Knowledge is not everything. Being well prepared, learned, proficient in anything is always only half the battle. It is also necessary for each of you to believe in what you have learned and to be able to speak your knowledge, your thoughts out loud and confidently to others. Then people will surely like you... and you, Sylvia, can go sit down."
The happy girl scampered to her chair.
Cathie beamed as if she herself had just finished answering and gotten top mark.
Sylvia sat down and put both hands on her knees.
Cathie grabbed her friend's wrist and gently squeezed it.

**********************************************************************

Contemplation 2 (July 25, 1965 – Sunday evening)
(based on actual events – october 2023 – I dedicate my story to the memory of Sylvia Marie Likens)

Sylvia was kneeling on the chair and gripping the back with both hands. She had an open book on the windowsill. For a while she read from it, for a while she dreamed, for a while she looked at the street through the open window. She fully enjoyed the rare moments when she could be alone in the room and she chose this unusual position because it best suited her agitated mood. Yesterday's conflict with Paula still resonated in her.
Oh, if only I had been ...
Rather, she pursed her lips, turned the page and continued on ...

1 There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens, 2 a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, 3 a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build, 4 a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance,

... May I say (sue!) Gertrude about what happened between us, or not? ... Will it help myself or rather hurt myself? ... Things are getting worse between the two of us ... or do I go straight to
her? ... No ... no ...

5 a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them, a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing, 6 a time to search and a time to give up, a time to keep and a time to throw away, 7 a time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak,

... I'll watch on her out on the street, it'll probably be better than here in the house ... and we'll explain things directly ... there's not much point in doing anything like that inside. ... everywhere is
stuffy ... too much tightly ... be as it may, but no one will touch my Jennie ... no one! ... simply I won't allow it! ...

8 a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace. 9 What do workers gain from their toil? 10 I have seen the travail, which God hath given to the sons of Adam ...

The doorknob clicked and Stephanie entered.
„Sylvia?"
The room continued to be gravely silent.
„Sylvia ... I don't like to disturb you, but mom is calling you. She's in the kitchen."
The focused girl stared intently at the swaying branches of the patulous oak tree. It didn't even seem she registered the Steph. She already opened her mouth to repeat the request of the lady of the house, but it didn't happen. Girl at the window suddenly turned around and stood up from her chair.
„I'll be right down," she replied in a low voice.
For a moment it looked like Stephanie was going to say something to her, but finally she nodded and left the room without saying a word.
Sylvia took the Bible, put a bookmark in it and closed it.
So maybe again tomorrow ... she sighed.
She walked over to the closet where she kept her clothes.
She quietly opened the glossy lacquered door, squatted down and carefully placed the book between her skirt and blouse, completely on the bottom shelf. She looked at her things with a critical eye. She was very satisfied. No one from the house could have guessed that she was hiding it here and why she is actually doing that ...
There is a time to wait and there is a time to act, she finally philosophized to herself, smiled and briskly ran out of the bedroom. She trotted to the stairs.

**********************************************************************

Omission (August 21, 1965 – Saturday late morning)
(based on actual events – I dedicate my story to memory of Sylvia Marie Likens – august 2023)

„Do you have a list?"
„We have."
„Money?"
„Too."
„Empty bottles?"
Sylvia imperceptibly averted her eyes up.
„Yes!"
Both sisters were already ready and on their way out. Sylvia was twirling an empty net bag in the air on her left index finger and holding a paper sack in her right hand. Jenny turned on the doorknob as Gertrude's commanding voice came from the kitchen.
„Sylvia!"
„Please?"
„Turn around!"
The girl twisted.
„Come back!"
Sylvia was confused.
„I ... and why?"
„You forgot something."
The girl swallowed.
„Ah, I'm sorry ... bye ... bye ... mom."
„You didn't forget to say bye, really didn't ... but you did forget something other."
The girl just shrugged her shoulders and slowly, incomprehensible, shook her head. She suddenly didn't know what to do or what to say.
„You forgot to get dressed!" the lady of the house uttered an absurd sentence in an even more absurd tone and pointed contemptuously at Sylvia's light, summer clothes reaching just above the knees, with her bony index finger.
Sylvia involuntarily glanced at her pea-green dress densely studded with tiny, white dots. They were sleeveless and on both shoulders they were tied with white ribbons in the shape of large bows. She nervously traced a small semicircle on the floor with her pale pink slipper. She immediately widened her eyes after that. She didn't know whether to smile, or to be offended, or something else entirely. She was speechless and felt her face slowly turn red. She ran her hand through her hair.
Meanwhile, Gertrude was slowly approaching. Her boat heels rhythmically echoed louder and louder on the hard surface until she stopped at the edge of the corridor. She didn't go inside, she just leaned her shoulder against the door-leaf. „You forgot to get dressed, Sylvia," woman repeated her earlier statement in that strange, still calm voice, „you understand me, don't you?" she added after a moment of complete silence.

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Phoning (July 17, 1965 – Saturday late morning)
((based on actual events – I dedicate my short story to memory of Sylvia Marie Likens – July 2023)

„No."
„ ... "
„No!"
„ ... "
„I say no!"
„ ... "
„Mhmmm."
„ ... "
„John, I real don´t know."
„ ... "
„You´ve to think I can do magic!"
„ ... "
„I am feeding two more hungry girls´ necks. Teenage necks!"
„ ... "
„Johnny remains to stay with you and your majesty send Steph back to me?"
„ ... "
„It´s all you!"
„ ... "
„Yes."
„ ... "
„Well, well … yes."
„ ... "
„Oh, you finally got it!"
„ ... "
„Have to is a big master, but do not have to is bigger!"
„ ... "
„So, keep waiting!"
Gertrude slammed into the phone and flew out of the cab near the gas station. She turned over the center of the empty intersection directly to her house and walked quickly. She saw Sylvia from a distance. The girl was sitting on the terrace with an opened magazine on her knees.
„Get up, bookworm! Sooner or later, you'll earn the glasses, believe me. Girl, you're coming with me! We're both going to my ex-husband in Beech Grove. You'll meet another of my daughters who's on holiday with him. Her name is Steph. We'll bring her back home. So, jump down to the basement and bring a bucket of water. And a clean rag! We need to wash the windshield and the rearview mirror … let's not both of us end up behind the first turn in a ditch ... it would be a damage. Now I'm talking about sister´s car, not us. I´ll drive the machine. So move yourself … go on, go on … hurry up; we´ve only ten minutes!"
„And ... and Jennie?"
„She´ll wait for us here until we return. Don't worry; neither we nor she die till then ... and when you finish scrubbing the car, you must change the clothes! I forbid you to go there in these shorts! Do you understand?"
Sylvia nodded and entered the house without a word.
Gertrude walked to a chair and picked up what the girl had just read.

The Beatles MONTHLY BOOK No. 22 MAY 1965 2nd YEAR

******************************************************

Departing (October 23, 1965 – Saturday shortly before midnight)
(based on actual events – I dedicate my short story to memory of Sylvia Marie Likens - October 2022)

"Je ... nny ... Je … nnie … is it … not ... is it ... really … you?"
The girl kneeling next to her just nodded.
Her throat was tight with overwhelming grief and she was unable to utter a single word.
Sylvia recognized her sister by the tears she felt on her cheeks.
She couldn't have her own a long time ago.
"Don't cry ... Jennie ... don't cry ... "
"I'm not crying," she lied straight into her face.
Sylvia frowned and gritted her teeth as she moved her body a few centimeters.
"Honey ... can you ... give me some ... water?"
As if through a veil of mist, she watched when Jenny stood by the faucet, filling the mug, turned, walked to her, came as close as it was possible, holding the cup in both hands all the time. She left her crutches leaning against the railings by the stairs.
Finally, she knelt down again and put the mug near to sister's mouth. Sylvia parted her bitten lips. She drank slowly, shakily. Her teeth clicked against the metal as she did so. Although she spilled almost half of the cup on herself, her weak exhalation revealed relaxation.
"Oh ... I was little relieved. Thank you."
"Cookie, I am going to cover you with a ... "
"No … it … is not … necessary … I'm not cold ... I feel no pain ... I'm lying on my back ... without the movement."
Jenny fumbled for Sylvia´s clothes scattered around and began to cover her with them. The younger sister closed her eyes helplessly as her gaze drifted down to her freshly tattooed stomach and exposed chest with a large mark burned on it. She tried to raise head to tuck the tangled old rag under it, but Sylvia made a weak movement to show her clear disapproval.
"It's not need, my dear, no need. Don't put anything behind my neck ... my head is spinning ... sometimes I register you ... sometimes I don't ... now I see you in a blur ... twice, or ... or three ... "
Jenny stroked sister's hair.
"OH, OOOH ... Cookie! Cookie! I don't know how ... how to help you,
how ... Daddy will come next week, in just a few days; he swore to us. He swore it to us, both! I believe, I hope very much, I pray the whole day that we will both see him as soon as possible and he will take us away from here immediately … "
"Jennie, Jennie … you have to be ... to stay ... please stay … try … please try to be ... stronger than me," she said softly, adding hesitantly, "I know you don't want it … but I'm going to die ... I can tell."
Jenny started to cry louder. She grabbed one end of the rope with which Sylvia's arms were crossed and her wrists were bound, but Sylvia flinched.
"Don't untie me, Jennie. Please. They tied me up. They want me to stay like this. They didn't tighten my knots with strong force. Ropes don´t hurt me."
With an effort, she turned her head to the wall and groaned into the empty darkness. Then she turned back.
"Go upstairs, Jennie. Don't let them find you with me. Don't let them start hurting you. Oh … go, please," her voice grew suddenly louder with these words, and there was infinite tenderness in it.
Jenny knelt motionless. She still couldn't find the strength to get up and leave away.
"It will ... it will be the best. And then … I want to sleep... if I could take a nap... oh, that's when I feel best... oh, then I don't feel anything ... anything … anything … oh my
God! ... oh my God! ... " Sylvia whispered and her eyelids finally closed at the last word.

*****************************************************

Overcoming (September 4, 1965 - Saturday evening)
(based on actual events – I dedicate my short story to the memory of Sylvia Marie Likens – September 2022)

Open your eyes.
Rather not.
Just one of them.
No.
The second one. The right.
Not really.
You have nothing to fear.
Really?
You have my word of honor ... I promise.
Oh! ... no … NO!
You've seen it before.
I know.
Several times.
You are correct.
So what?
Later.
When?
Tomorrow.
Now is the right time ... you're here alone ... at that moment, you´re definitely alone ... you're waiting on this for all this day, since early morning.
Yes, I know.
Maybe it looks better? Well … just a little better? Don't you want to see it for your own satisfy?
I do not believe. It's not worth it.
Just try. You don't have to be worried at all.
But I'm scared.
There is no one anywhere.
I hear sounds ... knocking ... on the floor, somebody´s shoes? ... hey, hey ... someone just coming ... straight to me.
Don't be silly. Nobody goes. It beats your scared heart. Calm down.
Oh my God!
Come on! Come on! Come on!
I can´t do that.
Why?
I don´t want.
Why?
I repeat it again, as I said, tomorrow.
May I ask why?
Oh, shut up! Shut up, please … SHUT UP!
Okay … as you say ... will you turn around and just leave?
I'm not leaving ... okay ... so ... I'll take a look. Really ... just for one moment ... For God´s sake, I guess for the hundredth time ... you talked me into it, again!
With her narrowed eyes, Sylvia stepped closer to the mirror. She reached out and touched the shiny hard surface. She stroked the side edge with her thumb and forefinger to delay as much as possible the necessary moment when she would face the face of herself and the terrible reality again. Oh, that memorable Wednesday! She swallowed the first saliva ... and then the second, carefully opening both lids. She hissed briefly.
She stared at herself. The polished area revealed in detail the giant monocle on the right. Her eye swelled properly. She saw almost nothing through him. The color of the lid changed to dark blue. The bruise stretched to the cheek and the edges played yellow-green.
She didn't have the courage to touch her fingertips on that fresh, still sore spot.
She watched her injury motionless … and suddenly felt something wet and warm on both cheeks.
Fortunately, the inner voice, somewhere deep inside her, was finally silent.

- o –

Instantly, someone in the hallway pressed the handle.
Energetically, but in vain.
Despite this finding, the person did not relieve and pushed it again and again, somebody twitched by door constantly, with increasing impatience.
Somebody tried it with all its strength, on and on.
The door slammed against the doorframe, the lock rattling, but it didn't let go a millimeter.
"Sylvia! Open up! Right now! You have been already in the bathroom for a half an hour! And alone. That's enough! Can you hear me? Unlock the door … immediately!" A teen´s girl's nervous voice echoed through the locked door; it was distinctive, though it creaked, and strangely, there was a hint of fear in it. The voice was spreading across the whole floor.
Tormented girl turned her back on the mirror.
And ... she stopped.
She hesitated.
She stood barefoot on the linoleum, staring at the metal key, tucked in a small black hole ...
And Sylvia was waiting, just waiting … and waiting and waiting and waiting … without a movement.

*****************************************************************

Photographing (18.07.1965 – Sunday afternoon)
(based on partly actual and partly assumed events , I dedicate my story to Sylvia Marie Likens - July 2022)

„Hold on a second, Cookie. I´ve the camera here. Look. I want to make some new photos with you. After all, your last photos are from Easter ... I know you like Brookside park very much. You´re asking me who told me that? Of course Jennie! And although the weather is not ideal for swimming today, I'm glad that we went here together ... you can enjoy the pool and the fun in it another time; summer has just begun ... see here, these stone steps will be quite a nice background for you, what are you saying? So fine, let's go... Oh my God, I'm just a leaky head! I forgot a new twenty-four picture film in the car ... that annoys me! Hm ... hmm ... I have no choice but to take remaining photos on this belt, which is installed in the device. On the film there are ... there are the last three free pictures as I´m watching, but what can I do?! Nothing! So we must not spoil a single shot.
Lean forward a little, Sylvia ... that´s it. Wow, your hair´s fantastic testify! ... And finally, please have a huge smile! A little more bit! ... This is it! ... Now don't move! Yes! CLICK!
Cookie, jump on this low wall. And stretch out your hand as if you were reaching for a branch from that mulberry tree. Look how it is covered in berries. I'll try to get them in the viewfinder as well... Excellent. Spread your fingers and pluck a few ripe fruits.
CLICK! ... Watch out for your shirt! When you pop the berries, you won't just get rid of that deep color... well, your fingers and face will definitely be red. It doesn't matter, right? The main thing is that you like them ... eat, eat as much as you can.
I look at my watch; we´ll have to come back slowly. The last clear image on the film remains. What do you suggest, Cookie? Choose the scenery yourself ... Hmmm? Would you prefer the bridge over the creek? Will you lean on the railing and look into the water? ... And before that, what do you want? Are you going to pluck meadow flowers to throw them one by one downstream? Okay, okay... I'll wait. We still have so much time... I'll sit on this bench for now, yesterday really took a toll on me. Actually, not only to me, but also to Benny. He worked as hard as a grown man. I'm proud of him."
The curly-haired man in his forties pulled a handkerchief from his plaid jacket and wiped his sweaty forehead. He watched in silence as his daughter bounced around until she ran to him with her arms full of flowers. He was smiling at her.
„What a beautiful bouquet! And don't you want to take it with you to put it in a vase? No? And won't you be a little bit sorry to get rid of it right now? Oh, sure no, I already know you ... you'll pick up a new one at the nearest opportunity ... hey, hey, I see ... so let's go to the bridge ... why are you still looking around? Are you waiting for someone to come here? ... No? So then? You mean, it's a shame that we are lonely here? I don´t understand. And why,
Cookie? ... What? Do you need some passersby now? And why on earth? ... Wow, to get us together! I see! You want a picture with daddy! That's a great idea! ... So do you know what we're going to do, Sylvia? We'll come back, down the path to the pool, and I'm sure we'll meet some kind soul , who will do it for us. We are going to leave the bridge with that lovely creek. Our last photo, which will be born in a moment, must be worth it!"

*****************************************************************

Splashing (October 18, 1965 - Monday shortly before midnight)
(based on actual events , I dedicate my short story to the memory of Sylvia Marie Likens – October 18, 2021)

The constrained, fuggy room was immersed in the darkness.
There was a grave silence in it.
The air was soaked with cigarette smoke and smelled of ash from the fire.
Glowing coal fell through the gate in the heated oven.
The wooden railing groaned.
Dusty stairs creaked.
One pair of legs was descending carefully, but hurriedly down them, until they reached the last lowest step.
Unexpectedly, they stopped hesitantly.
After a moment, a free-hanging hand reached for the wall.
The joined fingers disengaged, fished for something and the stretched finger pointed to a certain point like an arrow.
At the last moment, they froze in the air.
Apparently in the last second, they changed the mind and didn't touch the light switch.
The hand withdrew with its fingers falling back.
Suddenly, a lightning illuminated the tight space with a blinding flash.
The flickering glow had not yet resounded, and the air was already carried by the intensifying thunder.
Not a single leaf moved on trees.
It still didn't rain.
Someone´s legs moved again and descended to the cement floor.
Bare feet scuttled and aimed to the corner.
The desired goal was waiting for them there.
"Sylvia, I am bringing you a drink … right now" a low, hoarse voice said in the darkness.
Not waiting for an answer, the human being leaned forward.
The first heavy raindrop scattered on the outer sill of the ground floor window.
Then, with a buzzing sound, more and more were followed.
The wind was still not rising, the buzzing of oncoming rain was clearly heard from a short distance.
The rustling sounds of the descending cloudbursts drowned out everything else.
For the second time it thundered, louder and longer than before; this time without flashing.
Steel stick fell from some roof with a thud to the ground.
And then steady stream of falling water blanked out the view of a neighboring house standing in close proximity.
Long minute passed.
The dark figure in the corner finally straightened up and stepped back a step.
"... and that's it! YES!" The exhalation, accompanied by extraordinary relief, sounded louder than before of the same mouth through the basement.
One more second and the legs moved in the opposite direction.
They came up the first step and stopped in embarrassment.
The hand reached to the top of the pants and continued a little lower.
Fingers felt an open slit in the pants.
The 12-year-old boy firmly gripped the metal zipper puller between his thumb and forefinger.
He pulled him up with a mocking grimace on his face.
Phew! ... I´ve been saving it inside of myself since the afternoon, he grinned, and ran upstairs with ease.
His name was John Baniszewski junior.

*****************************************************************

The basement (October 12, 1965 – Tuesday)
(the day, when Sylvia was sent to the basement for "not keeping herself clean"- I dedicate my writing to the memory of Sylvia Marie Likens – October 12, 2021)

Basement is not always about underground. Not even about the small space. It's not just about gloom or darkness and it's not just about stink or stale air. I also mistakenly thought that it was only about loneliness. The necessity of lighting weak bulb or a few flickering candles never calm. On the contrary, the deceptive light in a person evokes a relentless foolish feeling, as if the opposite walls were to collapse – at any moment. Especially during nights. Basement seldom breathes placidly, but gasps almost every time. Basically, it can never be completely cleaned up. Dust is the basis of it, regardless of whether it is clay, carved in rock or built of blocks glued with mortar. At the same time, it relentlessly stretches its cold and wet tentacles. It is not alive, and it is not dead. Of course, basement likes bad ghosts that appear in the most unexpected places and disappear when they want and in the way they want. Basement does not spread sound outside of itself but has its own echo within itself. It will drown everything that is born in it. It's the bottom. Symbolic also literal.
For me, every single one has become the reminder of YOU. Since I´ve met you, I've been entering any underground space with the idea ... that once, and not so long ago, you ...
Eight, or nine wooden steps led to the place, where ten, twelve, fifteen-year-old bounders and their thirty-seven-year-old commander put you away as a corrupt, dirty, unnecessary thing? Yes, like thing! They locked you up the first day. It was not enough for them. The next day they tied your wrists and ankles. It was not enough for them. On the third day, they tied you with your hands over your head, against the railing, so your feet would not touch the ground. And it was still not enough for them. It wasn't enough for them until you stopped breathing.
And the court? Pure shame, but the judgment of man is not the judgment of God.
None of the murderers uttered words of regret on the trial or after the hearing. None of the murderers apologized. None of the murderers admitted the share of your death. Excuses came out of their mouth, idiotically and embarrassing, like smoke from an exhaust. The first was said to be sick. The second was told to do. The third allegedly did not know what he was doing. The fourth just stared. The fifth had fun because it was said to be an exciting game. The sixth asked his parents at dinner if is right to do such things to a girl, but ...
After endless days and endless nights, your suffering is over forever.
Their suffering has been just starting.
Sylvia!
Sylvia!
I am sure that I am speaking for everyone, every single member of your / our international family on the globe, who sit with you here and now, that in this second we would get up from computers, mobile phones and run to that hated house, if it would be
possible ... disassemble, break him into pieces, though with bare hands, and take you and Jennie away ...
Oh, if … if … if … !
… and so we spend our time with you in this way.
We are thinking of you.
We pray for you.
We write to you.
We draw your portrait.
We love you.
We know you're with us.
We are together.
You there and we here.
We believe that it will not be so long and each of us will take you in our arms.
Not for save you.
But to hug you endlessly.
Hi, Cookie!
Hi, Cookie!

*****************************************************************

Thinking of you (October 6, 2021 – Wednesday evening)

Today is the last day, of that unfortunate year, when you passed through the main entrance of Arsenal Tech High School. Hmm ... Wednesday.
Maybe it was a rainy day, maybe a sunny day; maybe it was warm or cold.
It may also be the last day you stayed, where teacher tested you in math or history or biology or any other object. Perhaps you answered his questions, quietly, in front of all the boys and girls who knew you, looking at you and talking to you during a few weeks ago. Maybe your teacher wrote you mark A or B or C or worse. Maybe not.
Maybe it is also the last day you ate your last lunch in canteen. Soup? Meat? Potatoes? Or something else?
And after that … I think, you walked by foot into the house … slowly, very slowly; to the devil´s house, which looked like all the other houses on the long street.
Nobody of us know, what happened inside in that afternoon.
Nobody of us know, what happened inside in that evening.
Nobody of us know, what happened inside next morning.
Only one circumstance is clear; Sylvia Marie, you did not come to the 10th class on Thursday. The same thing happened on Friday. And next week. You never came again. No one noticed this fact. Or … am I wrong? Maybe one or two students caught your absence, whispered about it during breaks, but did nothing.
My contribution here is neither a small part of the chronology of past events, nor an accusation of anyone from 1965, just an attempt to write short memory of you, Sylvia Marie. For me, you will forever remain a beautiful 16-year-old student, who carried desires that were never fulfilled. No, that's not the true ... now, RIGHT NOW, you are fulfilling all your desires in heaven. This is the true. You deserve this. And nothing else matter.
God bless you, Sylvia Marie.

*****************************************************************

Meeting (September 18, 1965 - Saturday evening)
(based on actual events – I dedicate my short story to the memory of Sylvia Marie Likens – September 2021)

"Hey, you!"
Sylvia's heart started to pound louder, but she didn't stop. With the unchanged rhythm of her small footsteps, she walked silently down the long narrow corridor.
"Hey, you! I'm talking to you! Or are you pretending to be deaf?!" The words sounded more poisonous than the first time.
The girl was embarrassed. She stopped without turning. Of course, she would recognize that voice also in the middle of the night.
Paula. She was standing in the bathroom door; her hair was wrapped by the headscarf. She had just showered. Big towel was covered fat body.
"Which command I gave you?" she muttered between her teeth.
Sylvia was being remained in silence. She had no idea what the second most important person after Gertrude in this house was thinking about now. A warning signal flashed in her brain that she must turn against her will. Immediately. At a minimum. So she twisted.
"I don´t ... know what´s on your mind," she said, almost in a whisper.
"You don't know ... so you're making a fool of me … and want to piss me off."
"Oh no! I ... "
"DO – NOT – YOU – DARE – COME – BE – FORE – MY – EYES! I spelled this sentence for you. You will avoid me. Under ever circumstances. I warned you what would happen otherwise. And you are spitting my words. You're just walking up and down the corridor when I am here, which is explicitly forbidden for you! Do you exactly know that meaning?"
Sylvia covered her face with her hands.
"It´s this!" exclaimed Paula.
She grabbed the hair hardener from the shelf and weight it in her palm.
She took a step forward, narrowed her eyes, aimed carefully and duly swung.
She threw the spray straight at the girl with a big momentum.
The container hissed in the air and struck Sylvia in the top of the head. She yelled, staggered for a moment, then slid down as if undercut.
Standing motionless, Paula watched the fall, with a wide smile on her face.
'Maybe this asshole will be more careful next time' she thought and wild joy effused in her heart.
Then, without a word, she went back to the bathroom and closed the door behind her.
She reached for the perfume.
'Thirty more minutes … oh my sweetheart, I can´t wait to see you!'

*****************************************************************

Contemplation (July 7, 1965 - Wednesday evening)
(based on actual events , I dedicate my short story to the memory of Sylvia Marie Likens – April 2021)

"... are you sleeping, Cookie?"
"Far from it! I'm looking at the ceiling."
"That´s great you don´t ... let's talk."
"Okay ... Jennie, today I counted all the places where our family has lived so far. Do you know how many times?"
"Hmmm?"
"Fifteen times."
"Wow!"
"By jingo ... By jingo! And again, it'll take me a while to get used to falling asleep on
another ... the sixteenth times ... in this foreign house."
"It is ... morose ... I don't even like him. What are we going to do?"
"And what bothers you?"
"Almost nothing. Namely ... everything."
"Although we're pushing on the same mattress, but we are together."
"Gertrude is kind of annoyed. She has also ... weird eyes … glowers with them."
"Not Gertrude, but 'Mom.' She constantly emphasizes that we should name her in this way."
"I´ve only one mommy. My own."
"We´ll be able to endure this for a few weeks, don't you think?"
"It seemed to me that she smiled affectedly on our daddy during his visit. Cookie, I'm also sad that they finally made agreement, so we have to stayed here. I'd rather we didn't have to stay here at all."
"Dad said only for this month. We will definitely make it."
"Well ... I'd rather spend my holiday with my grandma in Lebanon. I haven't seen her since the last summer."
"If our grandpa lived, maybe it would work ... but unfortunately she's getting more and more sick. We'll be fine in Indianapolis too, you'll see. I'll take you to the skating rink. We would definitely haven´t this in Lebanon. I will teach you to skate."
Jennie was already inhaling. Sylvia noticed her dismissive defensive attitude in time and would not let her speak.
"I know what you want to say. Don't be afraid of anything. You can do that. Also with a support device on the foot. I will hold your hand and guide you. Slowly. Very slowly. We´ll go straight along the barrier. Don´t worry."
The girl nodded her sister with eyelashes.
"Cookie, when I was sitting and reading in the kitchen at the table last night, I was completely shocked. Gertrude has so few dishes on the unit! A few bowls, two or three pots, some plates ... but I didn't see any cutlery. I searched in vain for a fork, I didn't find ... a single one. Just few spoons!"
"This family lives modest life. I haven't discovered washing machine in the house yet. I wonder how we're going to wash our clothes. Probably just in the bathtub ... although I found one door, but they were locked. And the key … nowhere. Maybe ... maybe they lead to the basement. And Gertrude has the washing machine down there."
"Cookie, we'll tell Dad everything we've discovered, and perhaps what we'll find out next … "
Jenny said this sentence with a yawn.
"I guess you're tired of talking. Shall we go to the realm of dreams? "
"Hmmm ... Cookie and do you dream of your Mike?"
Sylvia softly flicked sister's nose.
"Sure I'll tell you tomorrow morning."
Jenny grabbed her hand, tangled her fingers with hers, and squeezed her palm.
"Cookie, can we pray together? ... Even though it's not Sunday?"
Sylvia agreed and began quietly.
"Angel of God, my guardian dear … To whom God's love commits me here … Ever this day, be at my side … To light and guard, rule and guide … "

*****************************************************************

Watchkeeping (January 3, 1959 – Saturday early evening)
(based on fictitious events , I dedicate my short story to the memory of Sylvia Marie Likens – February 9, 2021)

A train hissed in the distance.
Water poured under the bridge.
It didn't flow wildly, it just lazily rolled from bank to bank and plopping silently.
The gravel-strewn sidewalk was disappearing behind the bend.
And the sky?
As far as the eye could see, there was a uniform milky gray blanket, except the bottom of the horizon, where the sun was setting. Here shone through a soft pink light.
Sylvia stood on the bridge.
Steam rose from her nostrils.
She stroked the iron railing lightly, though the frost crawled under her fingernails.
She was waiting.
And tilting her head, looking up.
Little girl was eager and excited.
Happy.
The child looked exactly like it could not wait for an extraordinary gift.
She was quite alone in the area; only with a river, a bridge and ... the sky.
Will I see it at all?
When will it come?
And will it be today, now, for me on such a special day?
"You'll get it," watercourse sang.
"You'll get it," bridge creaked.
"You'll get it," heaven whispered.
When?
In a moment?
I've been standing here for almost a quarter of an hour and nothing is happening!
And suddenly ... the first glittering star landed on her face.
The second one slid onto the wind-jacket.
The third covered the sidewalk.
More and more stars were flowing on the little girl.
Hundreds. Thousands. Millions. Billions.
First snow of this year kissed her on the lips, caressed her hair.
"You´re welcome," Sylvia laughed.
The flakes smiled at her and fell thicker and thicker.
She got it!

**********************************************************************

Washing (October 6, 1965 - Wednesday afternoon)
(based on actual events , I dedicate my short story to the memory of Sylvia Marie Likens - October 22, 2020)

Sylvia turned on the water tap. It seemed to her that she finally would have a few moments only for herself. Did everyone disappear from the house somewhere? It looked like that. Thank God! And Jenny, tired, fell asleep. The girl was glad she could hide down into the dark basement from Paula, Ricky and other kids and wash the skirt she wore every day in the sink.
"I see, you thought of doing something useful."
Frightened, Sylvia immediately turned. "Mom" was breathing on her back. She came inaudibly and was now leaning against the unplastered chimney. She just stood there, motionless.
Sylvia didn't know what to say. Washing her own belongings in the basement was in accordance with agreed rules issued by Gertrude shortly after their arrival at the house. She was quickly thinking about the last hours if she had done anything wrong. ‚Am I again guilty?' She couldn't find anything bad in her mind, but that didn't mean the things were okay.
Nevertheless, Gertrude mysteriously smirked at Sylvia. "Are you doing well?"
She nodded. "Yes. I'll be done in a few minutes. My skirt is washed. I am going to rinse it several times in the water and I'll be finished."
The woman agreed. She pulled a half-empty box of cigarettes from her pocket and picked one out. She lit it and was blowing the bluish smoke to the ceiling in small wheels.
"Did something happen?" Sylvia wanted to break the cold silent.
"Nothing happened. I came to see how it looks like here. I haven't been down for a few weeks. The last time was at the end of the summer."
She walked slowly to the stairs and walked beside the concrete wall to the opposite corner. She looked around with black eyes, inquisitively. Along the way, she crossed the scattered smaller or larger masses of junk; she pushed back a three-legged wooden chair and almost slipped upon piles of old rags. She stopped in the angle, next to the small window. The dusty glass barely let in daylight. Gertrude was staring through the hole out for a long time, then knocked the ash from the cigarette on the floor and turned back.
Sylvia had just finished the third rinsing. The water in the sink was quite clean. She was pleased. She raised the plaid skirt with green-gray pattern to eye level and looked at it in the light of a glowing light bulb. At first, she was worried that the tomato stains would remain visible. She exhaled in alleviation. The ocher color, dominating the fabric, remained really ocher.
Great! I'll have it ready to the school. The skirt is guaranteed to dry by tomorrow. And I'll combine it... wow! my favorite striped turtleneck up to my neck! So far, it's not so cold outside to pull out my autumn jacket. I love this outfit! Most of all!
She smiled, happy, just like Gertie had a moment ago. Maybe, that's why she didn't notice "Mom" standing behind her back again. She only noticed the crooked figure when she felt the fresh smoke she blew on Sylvia's neck.
Sylvia briskly slung the skirt over the stretched cord to begin to dry and turned to Gertrude.
The woman held out a clenched palm holding a burning cigarette and, without hesitation, placed it directly on the girl's bare skin, just below the elbow.
She left the scorching tip pressed against the body.
Her bony fingers of her right wrist steely gripped Sylvia´s forearm.
"In this way, I will teach you not to steal," she hissed.

**********************************************************************

Cute dialogues (January 3, 1954 - Sunday early morning)
(inspiration for writing was my night dream , I dedicate my short story to the memory of Sylvia Marie Likens - January 3, 2020)

Snowflake: "Why is it … when I fall on the ground, I always melt?"
Sylvia: "I think, my dear little star, or from the warmth of man, or from your hot tears over him."
Snowflake: "Should I die in my own tears? Better not ... it is always easier to leave, if we knew happiness before."
Sylvia: "So take a look ... "
And the snowflake lovingly, quite close, looked into her deep, dark brown eyes. After a while she disappeared away on the window with a smile ...
Sylvia closed a window into a snowy garden. Today is her great day. Unusual anniversary! She is celebrating birthday. And not just any … the fifth. Yes, Sylvia has right now, today, amazing five years!
The window sill creaked gently as she stood up. She stroked her pressed little knees, looked back again at the uncommon box tied with a giant pink bowknot that she´d laid next to her.
She´d been enjoying her present for an hour, but she couldn't resist looking inside once more.
Yes! It is there! Wow! Now I'm going to have breakfast and then … we'll be together the whole day!
Sylvia´s shining eyes were like two sparks.
Set table in the kitchen waited patiently for her. The little girl settled on her chair. She picked up the large red cup full of fresh fruit tea with both hands, and she started slurping the tasty drink with great flavor …
Jennie, are you already awake, or are you still dreaming in your bed? I´m so eager to show you, what I´ve received!
The short desire flew through her head, she wiggled gracefully and the blonde curls of thick hair spilled on all sides of her head.

- o –

A door slammed upstairs. The inner glass panel clanked and a random observer could hear the patter of small feet.
Sylvia jumped up.
"Jennie? Is that you? ... Come on, here, come quickly. Aha, I found this huge box this morning. Daddy and mommy promised me before Christmas that they would fulfil my big dream on my birthday. And here is it! Hooray!"
Only a year younger sister, in light green pyjamas and knitted slippers, was coming down the stairs.
"Cookie? Show me, please ... Yowza! … she´s amazing, so wonderful!"
"From Nancy Ann Dolls, Jennie! Whee!"
"She looks so realistic. Isn´t she alive? Oh … and her dark brown eyes! And chubby cheeks. Like yours, Cookie! She smiles at you and me too. I've never seen such a gorgeous doll!"
"She´s looking on us right now, so her eyes are open … but they can simply close. Look Jennie … I'll put her on the table ... well ... she is lying and eyes are already closed. Now she is going to sleep. When I take the doll in my arms, she opens both and gazes on me only. Yippee!"
"Cookie Cookie, what cute chequered clothing! With blue-gray squares. And inside that big ones are the small squares. The creamy colour … I just touch … Wow! She has warm dress. Is that flannel? She won't be cold at all. There is the wide yellow belt around the waist. Our mom, when she is dressed up, is wearing a similar one. Dark blue, you know, with a white double ripple and silver buckle... see, Cookie ... on her chest two girdles are fastened onto two light blue buttons. There is one on each side. They're real. You have the same buttons on your clothes. Sure, accurately … and I see new two buttons, at the back. One is above the yellow giant bow which is through half the back … and the other is on the bottom at the end … to fasten her dress, isn´t it?"
"Yes. Both ends of the bow are tied on her back. The other buttons are hidden under the bow. On the top of the head the doll is decorated with one small bowknot in hair. It´s also yellow, can you see, Jennie?"
"Sure, I can. I can't take my eyes off her! … and you also put bow in your hair, Cookie. You like the white most. You´ve never forgotten to take your one on Sundays, when we walk to the church always together."
"Put her on the floor. Woohoo! She reaches your knees, Jennie."
"How big the doll is. Although, she´s a baby, of course ... and how old she is, Cookie?"
„Three years old. She´s celebrating her birthday today too ... she has booted white sandals on her small legs. Adorable. They're on straps. In our room, we can unclip them and take them off. I'll put on her slippers, which left me after Lottie. When spring comes, I´ll go for a walk with her. Then I´ll take them on again. I certainly can't take her outside now, there is snow anyway. She could get sick immediately … Let's play with her upstairs, Jennie. I'm not hungry anymore. I drank tea, and I'm fine. Hmmm? I´m so eager!"
"Me neither. We'll eat later. Let's go, let's go, let´s go... and ... what's her name, Cookie? Have you found a name for her yet?"
"Of course, I have. It's my Lulu! I´m her mommy and you come to visit me. Huh! Firstly, I need to brush her hair. She can´t have messy hair … You will knock in a jiffy, okay Jennie?"
"I have a hairbrush, Cookie! I'm going to find it among my stuff."
Sylvia grabbed the doll with both hands and for a few moments she soothed and rocked Lulu in her arms. Then she looked to her face quite close and gave her gentle kisses. One small kiss on her right cheek and the second on her left.
"And now, my dear Lulu, we are going upstairs. I'll show you, where you´ll be living. I´ll share my bed with you, don´t be afraid. You´ll never be alone," she tweeted with a smile to her new doll. She stroked Lulu´s dense rich curls and together with Jenny, all three left the kitchen.
"Lulu's long hair is like a fairy tale princess. Your image, Cookie. Do you notice?" Jennie was borne away by the early morning and pleasant experiences.
Sylvia just smiled softly, not saying a word aloud.
Pop certainly read my thoughts, when he chose Lulu for me in the store, she thought to herself.
If they had waited just for a minute, they would definitely observe full loaded sledge outside. Sled was running on the squeaking snow between the houses. Several new centimetres of fresh snow fell during the night. Snow was glittering on the roofs in the morning sun rays. White smoke rose from many chimneys to the azure sky.
Coachman, muffled up in furs, sat on a wooden bench at the beginning of the sled. He was carrying huge and heavy cargo, the lot of pots raw´s milk straight from the farm. The thill-horses, one white pony and the second one brown, shivered with long manes, wagged with tails cheerfully and shook by heads. Then they briefly neighed, one by one. Thick vapor was coming from their nostrils. Harmonic sounds from the bells, which were tied around their necks, spread out louder and louder. Into the far surroundings there were heard never-ending jingles.

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Evil Verses
(I dedicate my poem to the memory of Sylvia Marie Likens - October 26, 2019, 03:00 p.m.)

how were they started these unhappy events
and what caused their sad end?
was it real fate, to enter that devil house
and a while there to spend?

please, reader, take a seat
and just try to feel deep helplessness,
dear reader, don´t ask me,
i have no answers, only God has

when evening sunset was coming,
darkness of your true story increased in madness more,
as the morning sun was rising,
no relief and what else did you have to prepare for?

when midnight yelling sounds,
were spreading out and upwardly,
big moon hid its full face
and all stars turned off, abruptly

when massive drops of the downpour,
were knocking on the basement,
people were closing ears and eyes,
through the whole streets, adjacent

when suddenly hit really harsh storm
and damaged the branches of trees,
myriad of material daemons,
purposely appeared, in reprise

when dense fog was falling,
on the dirty muddy leaves-covered ground,
you, cursed and lost princess,
you were inaudible as ultrasound

when you were just growing and flowering,
like unique precious little bud,
horrific beings started kicking you
and you were mercilessly plucked

who walked around, who then came,
to wipe last tear, when you cried?
who ran to you, who then knelt,
to close your eyes, when you died?