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Mar. 5th, 2007 | 08:15 pm
she stared at the timber frame ceiling above her, marveling at the boy's handywork. "i can't believe he built this with his own two hands," thought the ragamuffin. the stair was also expertly crafted. she noticed a shelf of books below the stair. she read the titles: "Audubon Guide to Western Wildlife," "Basics of Woodworking," "Poems of Nathaniel Hawthorn," and a nameless book bound in purple velvet with a silver heart emblem on the spine. she removed the purple book and began flipping through it. it was actually a scrapbook. a book of old photos, presumably of his family. one picture was of a mother, father and child. subsequent photos showed the child had aged. this book was in chronological order. after the fourth or fifth page there were no more photos of the mother or father. only pictures of the child. a graduation photo. a picture with a girlfriend. a picture of the house under construction. and then a picture of a man. he looked like the boy who had taken her in, but somehow he was different. he looked wiser, more knowing. she put the book back on the shelf and returned to her chair but the french doors. she wondered who the boy was. what had happened to him? where was his family? who was the older man? with these questions in mind she slowly dozed off into an afternoon of daydreaming.