The autumn breeze rustled through the leaves overhead. Dusk was 
setting in, casting the earth in rich amber rays of sunlight as the 
woman walked through the cemetery.  Her soft brown hair swirled 
around her shoulders in loose curls of varying lengths giving the 
impression of just-woken disarray.  Her hazel eyes looked steady on 
as she walked straight and even towards the disturbed ground. The one 
side of her face was slightly tanned and looked entirely too young to 
be so devoid of emotion.  The other side was well hidden behind the 
curtain of curls.  Her arms hung limply by her sides as she moved 
forward almost as if she were being pulled along by a string.

She stopped by the mound of the freshly dug grave, kneeling to run 
her hands through the black soil. It was rich and cool to the touch. 
After a moment, she looked up and breathed deeply taking in the scent 
of her husband’s homeland. The Blue Ridge Mountains of North 
Carolina.  Here he had wanted to lie, so here she had brought him.  
It was peaceful and majestic with a view across the valley that was 
positively breathtaking.  If you didn’t know better, you might have 
held out your arms and jumped into the sky to fly.  The others from 
the village who had known him, or at least his family, had long since 
left the funeral proceedings, but here she stayed. “I cannot leave 
you. I have nowhere to go.” She whispered into the wind.

At that moment, the breeze caught up the curtain of hair and lifted 
it from her face revealing the ugly scar that tore its way down the 
other side of her face like someone had taken a huge claw and ripped 
it open. It extended from about the middle of her right forehead down 
to beneath her jaw line, slicing through her eyelid, but leaving the 
eyeball intact.  What once had been a beautiful face was now marred 
and tortured.  She remembered the night she’d received the scar.  It 
was the same night her husband had sacrificed his life for hers.  It 
was a heavy burden of a memory that haunted both her dreams and her 
waking thoughts until she had completely closed in on herself, 
shutting out the world, nearly snuffing out the fire lighting her 
soul.  The only thing that kept her from following him now was the 
memory of his voice.

Distinctly in her mind, she heard the loving voice of her husband 
haunting her, ‘Go to my grandfather’s house. He was a minister to the 
village here years before.  You will be welcome. The people here are 
kind and good.  They will take care of you, my love.’ She clutched a 
handful of dirt like she was squeezing his strong hand and nodded as 
finally the tears she’d refused to shed earlier slid unbidden down 
her face. “I miss you.” She mourned softly.  ‘We are one heart, my 
love. I will never leave you.’ Came the comforting mental response.  
Slowly she sat down in the damp grass and watched the remnants of sun 
sink beneath the horizon of the mountain range.  

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

I was so entrenched in what I was doing that I didn’t hear when my 
roommate actually entered the room until she plunked down her shoes 
in front of the door and spoke, “Burning the midnight oil again, eh?” 
I blinked my eyes to bring moisture back to them. I’d been staring at 
the computer screen for hours now. “Did you get any further along 
with the last idea or start a new one?” she teased lightly as she 
moved around the living room.  She puttered around, lifting piles of 
paper and strewn dirty clothes, obviously looking for her keys. I 
don’t know why she never used the key hooks by the door, but that had 
never been her way and after pointing it out several times to her, I 
decided it was no longer worth the argument.  “They’re on the TV,” I 
murmured, lifting a cold cup of coffee to my lips, still keeping my 
eyes on the screen. “And it’s a new one.”

“Ah.  Thanks.” She answered easily striding over to the TV to reclaim 
the wayward items. “So is it a good one this time?” She asked 
absently as she adjusted her half bra and slipped on a cut off halter-
top from the laundry basket.  Why bother to fold clothes? They’ll 
just get unfolded again when you wear them is our philosophy.  “Well, 
it WAS a good one when it woke me up at 4:00A this morning, but so 
far I haven’t gotten past page five with it.” I sighed, finally 
sitting back, rubbing the bridge of my nose and under my eyes to get 
rid of the fatigue, and watching Corral saunter into the 
kitchen. “Maybe you should try something other than romance for a 
change. I mean all those rock hard men and flawless women. Where do 
they get the idea women are flawless anyway?” She sneered as she 
opened the refrigerator door and pulled out the gallon of milk.  

I watched my “nearly” flawless roommate for a moment. Her silk blond 
hair was set in cornrows to the crown of her head where it was then 
free to tumble down her back in loose curls. Her toenails were 
painted cherry red to match the rose and dagger tattoo she sported on 
her left tricep. Size ten faded jeans accentuated every curve and the 
cut off halter-top left her belly exposed to show off the belly 
button ring her latest boyfriend had talked her into getting. As a 
matter of fact she was completely decked out in ear cuff and two sets 
of earrings in each ear, toe ring, bangles around her wrist, several 
rings on her fingers, and a heavy ankh necklace.  Her blue eyes 
sparkled with mischief as she jested with me and of course her lips 
were just the right size of pout to make her “kissable” as the guys 
at the office put it.  She popped the top of the milk and proceeded 
to drink it straight from the bottle as I struggled to hide a smile, 
knowing at least half a dozen men who’d pay top dollar for a picture 
of her just like that they could drool over. “I have no idea, but you 
know creamy flawless skin and hair down to your ass are prerequisites 
to being a romance heroine.” I mused.  

Corral put the lid back on the milk, wiping her mouth against her 
shoulder just before the sleeve cut-off as she put it back in the 
fridge. “I don’t see why.  Your heroines are never perfect. As a 
matter of fact, you go out of your way to make them have some kind of 
horrific flaw. Last book you published, the girl was deaf. Before 
that she was missing a leg and walked with a prosthetic, before that 
she was a psychic that got such terrible headaches, she was 
terminably grumpy. I think the biggest challenge for you would be to 
actually write a flawless woman without boring us to tears.” I 
shrugged at that, nodding in acquiescence.  “That’s probably true, 
but hey the first law of writing is..” she picked up and finished my 
sentence for me in a bit of a smirk, “Ya gotta write what ya know. 
Yeah, yeah, yeah. Is that why the guys are never flawed?” She 
challenged me as she pulled a bowl of pudding from the frig and a 
spoon from the drawer before plopping down on the couch opposite me. 
It never seemed to bother her that she usually sat down on a couple 
of books, the remote, and maybe a shoe. It would never dawn on Corral 
to actually clean something. Guess she just wasn’t home enough for it 
to bother her, so I usually ended up doing it after it started to 
seriously annoy me.

I genuinely chuckled then, “Hey this is fantasy fiction. Romance. The 
men have to be perfect or why bother reading it? You want reality, 
try a couple shelves down…or better yet, just roll over in bed so 
your hubby can fart in your face.” Pudding almost exploded from her 
mouth as she erupted in that cutsy little hyena laugh she does.  I 
extricated myself from the pile of stuff precariously perched on and 
around my computer so I could walk into the kitchen to make a fresh 
pot of coffee. “So what is he this time? The dark and sensual vampire 
who needs a woman to save his soul? The handsome, brooding pirate who 
captures a passenger vessel? The savage Indian chief who kidnaps the 
rancher’s daughter to have his wicked way…” Sometimes she could be 
entirely too melodramatic for her own good.  Still, I had to smile.  
Corral had a good heart and her ribbing often gave me the break I 
needed from tedious deadlines and uncooperative muses.  

“I actually haven’t gotten to him yet, so I honestly don’t know. 
Still working on developing the heroine’s character right now. You 
know, I’ve got a meeting with my editor today and I have absolutely 
nothing to show her except a couple mindless, boring beginnings.” I 
heaved a sigh wearily, “You know sometimes I just don’t think I’m cut 
out for this successful writer crap.” Corral snorted as she walked 
back into the kitchen, rinsing the bowl out in the sink. No, she 
didn’t put it into the dishwasher.  She just rinsed it out and sat it 
in the sink to be done later. “That’s why you have a day job, hon.” 
She laughed and I groaned. “Don’t worry, Callie.  You’re brilliant 
and you work well under pressure. I’m sure you’ll come up with 
something.” She offered her support, squeezing me tightly around the 
shoulder once. “So what’s this girl’s problem? Is she a heroine on 
Heroin?” she giggled at her own joke and I bit my lip trying 
desperately not to roll my eyes where she’d see me.  “Scar down her 
face,” I replied blandly.  The aroma of the fresh coffee dripping 
into the pot tickled my nose, easing the tension in my shoulders. 

“Oooh, good one,” Corral flourished. “It’d have to be a fictional man 
to get around that deformity.”  I couldn’t help it. The smile just 
invaded my face and I was defenseless against it. It spread like a 
disease. So much for that perfectly healthy bad mood. Foiled 
again. “Sure. What’s better for the heroine on Heroin than a man into 
S&M? They’re the perfect match made in twisted mind of Callie 
McPherson.” We both fell over laughing. “Ok, ok,” I placated, “What 
are you doing out of bed before noon? Didn’t Lance have a late night 
gig last night?”  She nodded, shoving her feet into the clogs, 
dumping various items into a beaded purse, and grabbing up her keys 
once more. “Yeah, but I didn’t stay for the last set. I’ve gotta run 
and get some supplies before I can finish this cover art for the new 
project...preferably before Edith tans my hide.” She looked up at me 
briefly, “You want me to drop off some of the transcriptions while 
I’m down that way?”  I looked over at the neglected pile of tapes 
that held legal dictation. “Better not. It’ll just encourage them to 
beg for more, faster.”

She nodded, and quickly rubbed my cheek against hers in that goodbye 
kiss she’d learned in France during her exchange student days. “I 
gotta run, sweets. I’ll catch ya tonight.” And with that, she was 
gone leaving the door standing wide open. I shook my head. I loved 
Corral, but sometimes she could just be the epitome of the 
stereotypical blond.  I wandered over and closed the door, before 
retrieving a fresh cup of coffee from the kitchen, and staring 
menacingly at the computer.  After a minute, I decided that trying to 
get anything more accomplished was an act of futility cause I was out 
of ideas and staring at the screen was making my eyes buggy.  I was 
going to start looking like Marty Feldman shortly if I didn’t just 
give up the ghost for the day. Instead I went and sat on the 
windowsill of our studio apartment looking out at the city.  It was 
dismal and grey, plopping huge drops of rain here and there. It 
streaked the window catching the dying streetlight in intricate 
prisms of color. The woman reflected in the glass stared back at me. 
A plain Jane through and through, neither intolerably ugly nor 
breathtakingly beautiful. I stared into the reflection of my own 
eyes. Kind of an indistinguishable color.  My hair, tied back in a 
schrunchie, was nondescript brunette. Absently, I traced the woman’s 
lips on the window, ‘Write what cha know, huh? And just exactly when 
have YOU ever been kissed to where you felt fire bursting through 
your veins, trying to explode out your toes?’  The reflection sighed 
wearily, but didn’t have an answer.