September faded into October, then October into November. The leaves had fallen to the ground, brown and crunchy. The air was nippy, coloring cheeks red, chapping hands.
Thanksgiving was rolling around quickly, and people were out buying frozen turkeys, and other Thanksgiving dinner stuff. And Sara Layton, Lynda Roberts and Logan Thompson had brainstormed up an idea. It was more Logan’s idea then anybody’s really.
Sara and Lynda knew their parents wouldn’t mind, but since Logan would be babysitting his brother, Cade, that day, he needed to ask if Cade could come too.

I see the innocent BABY
I smell the BABY’s unseen tears
I watch the woman leave, childless
I feel regret for what I am forced to do
I hear the unheard whimper of a dying BABY
I know what I’m doing, unwillingly
I don’t understand why this happens
I cry for the BABY lost
I wish see would look back to see what a mother she has become
I hate the doctor, the murderer.

A hall; a tall foreboding house of stone:
Set upon the lonely, stretching snow,
And there, by its rusty iron gate, I stood
With a tall, strange friend I did not know

“Come,” he spoke, and went on, through the gate;
I followed him, past quiet trees which stood
Like long dead sentries, menacing the path,
With blackened leaves and limbs of rotten wood

The door was large, and heavy, rough-hewn oak,
And beckoned us, with haste, to go away;
But still we made a cautious entrance there,
And I, with silent wonder heard him say:

The car was stopped due to traffic and congestion just outside campus. We groaned and grumbled about how we had to pick this exact time on this exact day to go run errands in this part of town. People, young and old, were streaming by dressed in their Sunday best. A church function, we wondered?

When Varian awoke, he was lying on his stomach in a ten by ten foot cell. The imprint of the cold stone floor pressed into the side of his face. Varian raised his head and winced as dwarven drums began pounding behind his eyes.

I hear names being called
I see bittersweet smiles
I smell tears of joy and sorrow
I taste the subtle insecurities of students
I feel the anxiety of parents
I cry for friends who will be lost
I will remember the tests and detentions
I rejoice the grades and scores
I laugh one last time
I sing of moving forward and remembering the past
I will forever live in the hearts of everyone
I am Graduation

Chapter the Twelfth

The ballroom was decked out in bright golds and reds. The people were decked out in their fanciest clothing, especially the ladies. They spared no luxury or decoration; so very many of them turned out looking gaudy and silly in their frills and laces and petticoats. The men, sad to say, weren’t much better.
Torlith wasn’t dancing. Anyone he would have asked would’ve complied, out of fear if nothing else, but he seemed to have no desire to dance. Knowing him, I’m not at all surprised.

A “new” mother smiles upon her tiny child
As she rocks him in her arms.

A “not-so-new” mother rubs her son’s hair
After receiving an A+ report card.

An “old” mother hugs her grown-up daughter
As she watches her grandchildren.

And another mother strews flowers
Upon the grave of her grandmother.

A new generation of loving mothers
Appears every year.

Tending and watching over their children
With as much love as their own mother.