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Heat lightning flashed malevolently as Tucker watched. Her large green eyes took in the bright, threatening flashes without comprehension. Though no thunder accompanied the lightning, Tucker could still hear the gentle rumble somewhere in the recesses of her mind. Rain fell in sheets from the dark sky and sounded like tinker toys crashing together, again and again, as it fell on the tin roof above her. It was here most of Tucker’s memories lived; in a dark, dank house with two bedrooms and no parents. Blood was splattered carelessly across the faded walls as if thrown there by some abstract painter. There were no lights in Tucker’s house, but with each flash of lightning that sad scene before her was lit up.1

An abandoned ambulance sat out front, it’s lights no longer in working order, the back of which Tucker had played in through out her childhood. She looked across at the abandoned vehicle and could still remember summer days and melted strawberry ice-cream. Her mother’s tinkling laughter as she, Tucker, climbed over the white sheets of the stretcher, screeching like the long dead siren. She shivered violently as her skin erupted in goose bumps at the forgotten touch of her mothers soft fingers.2

The grass around and under the ambulance had grown long and menacing without her papa’s loving caress. A broken swing sat rusted and decrepit in a corner of the yard. Tucker remembered, again, times better forgotten. Soaring above the manicured lawn as Papa pushed her higher and higher on the plastic swing.3

‘I can touch the sky Papa!’ She yelled joyfully, her blonde hair fanning out behind her.4

The memory vanished with another flash of lightning and Tucker was returned to reality. The bed on which she sat was old and rotting, but she had cleaned the threadbare linen everyday until only pale brown stains remained. Her pajamas were in the same state, threadbare and stained yet still impeccably clean.5

Tucker pushed her way down between the sheets and shut her eyes tightly against the next wave of memories. This time it was not beautiful summer days that filled her mind’s eye, but rather her mother’s urgent voice telling her to hide beneath the bed.6

‘Don’t look darling. No matter what you hear, don’t look. I love you.’7

Then she was gone forever in a blur of blood and screams. Tucker had removed her parents’ presence from her mind, just as she had removed their bodies from the house. But still she had remained, hidden and alone, reliving the years before, just to remember Papa’s voice when he said goodnight and her mother’s soft kiss. 8

Tucker wiped away the tears as she climbed slowly from the bed and padded across to the wardrobe. With the memory of her parents’ death she had become suddenly repulsed by the clothes she was wearing. She pulled out a pair of jeans and sweater, that were worn and several sizes to small but, thankfully, clean. Slipping the clothing over her thin frame, Tucker glanced quickly in the mirror, flinching slightly at the sight of her own face. Mattered blonde hair framed a thin face that would have been beautiful if not for the ugly purple scar that ran the length of her pale cheek. Tucker opened the mirrored door and removed a faded picture of her Mother and herself, dancing and laughing beneath a sprinkler throwing rainbows over a green lawn.9

Tucker returned to the bed and slipped once again beneath the sheets, clutching the picture to her chest and singing softly to herself. 10

‘Hush little baby, don’t say a word, Mama’s gonna’ buy you a mocking bird...’11

Tucker knew if she tried hard enough she could still remember her mother’s soft voice as she sang her to sleep and her papa’s gentle touch and her tucked her in. And it was to the memories of these long forgotten rituals that Tucker drifted gently into a deep and comfortable sleep. 12