Everything’s pretty clear for minutes, maybe hours, I can get rough impressions for longer, maybe days, any further than that, I have to concentrate...hard to see anything and I’ll probably get a headache.Then they seem to see the present so clearly, and only the present clearly. Things are clearest near this mythical point, but it doesn’t seem as important as people make out. But now I was seeing this girl, but only somewhere near the present. I couldn’t see her past, and I couldn’t see her. And then, one more guy. She went off the deep end again and back to one of those hospitals. I went to Dad's. Spent a lot of time crying. More time playing. Did a recital. Dad actually showed up. Latest 'stepmom' looked like second runner-up in a Barbie lookalike contest. I guess she tried talking to me, but she was only ten years older than me, had zero skills not tied to her bra size. I can be standoffish.I had one friend in that house, Dad's Guatemalan housekeeper, Ysabela. Ysabela, of Indian. Her arm was outstretched away from the cage. “Father!!” I heard her cry over all the other screams and shouts.I followed her hand and saw my father kneeling on the ground. He was covered in blood. My heart sank further as I recognised the body laying on the ground before him. It was my mother. My eyes became misty with tears as I watched the scene unfold.“Finally found the infamous Beorn Ironhide and he’s a farmer now!” A man in long black cloak with a wolves fur draped across the shoulders. It bore mute testimony to the absent owners who no longer needed worldly goods to attest to their success in life. She paused at the circle where the children used to play with the fountain that still flowed with mountain stream water piped in for only the birds to play in with their flapping wings and beady eyes.She noticed that the roads were almost empty in sharp contrast to the years when she had visited them before the war. It had been a major route into Paris but now it seemed to be a.