www.whyville.net May 16, 2010 Weekly Issue

Senior Times Writer

Hidden: Part 4

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Coldness swept over Sable; it was a feeling that made her feel cozy for some strange reason. She was out, with darkness swallowing her and caressing her as they encouraged her eversleep. It was comfortable. No worries were on her mind. In fact, she felt as if she had no mind at all. Sable was free, flying out into the inky black. She could go anywhere she pleased, just so long as she didn't leave the darkness. Sable couldn't see herself, either. She was just like a wandering soul in the midst of nothing.

However, sometimes she wondered: how did she get to be in the darkness? What had coaxed her into its freezing depths? Every once in a while, she heard voices. They were coming from the exterior. It was as if Sable was withdrawn inside of herself, but the outside life still scurried about. Time went on. Dismay rippled through her at times as she thought of it. 'Maybe they just don't care about me,' she would think, and then a bitter sourness would envelope her and she would turn her back on the voices and the sounds. They didn't need her. She would just be another spirit, another lifeform, another body in the world.

It was then when Sable realized she was holding on to something. She really wasn't free; she was merely grasping to her body. Her world. Her past. She held on for days, feeling a little afraid. What if she fell off?

Eventually, Sable got tired of holding on. What exactly was she holding on to anyways? Why not take the risk? She dared herself to let go, and so she did. As soon as Sable relaxed what she thought was her fingers, she began to float away . . . she realized that she was fading. In the far distance, Sable heard some sort of gentle weeping, and then all was out.


It was a month ago when Sable Rhodenbock died. She had been in the hospital, eyes closed, skin pale, and in a deep sleep. The doctors had told the orphanage caretakers that Sable had a sliver of a chance of living. She had been hit hard with a large rock on her head, which knocked her out. It was during a fierce storm. Even with the strong winds, policemen and detectives doubted the rock was carried to her head; they concluded that someone must have come up struck her hard in her shallow sleep. Who and why? They had no clue.

Sable Rhodenbock had a sad story, the newspapers said. She had been an orphan nearly all her fourteen year old life, being refused by even her relatives. The reason why was not revealed.

She had a short life; whether or not it was a good one, no one knows. "Sable was one known to be a bit . . . reclusive," one of the volunteers said. "She would go down by the shore and wistfully watch the waves pass by."

Months and months passed, and soon Sable Rhodenbock's death was a mere memory on the back of a person's head; perhaps the memory has diminished so much that is has been forgotten. However, Sable has been put to rest. By who? That's unknown . . .


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