• Vol. 05
  • Chapter 01


Dead Peoples Stuff For Sale? He doesn’t even know how to use punctuation, ugh. What a horrible advertisement. He's never going to get anything. Who would take him seriously? Even the front steps look horrible. Couldn't he have at least repaired them when Auntie June asked? That was back at the beginning of summer, when Auntie June was still rifling through her purse for a piece of gum.

Now the leaves have all fallen and she's gone, gone like the summer breeze and the lightning bugs. Lightning bugs we would stay up late and watch together.

No time like the present, I guess. The room is dark and gloomy. I spot her costume jewelry all twisted and twirled into a jumbled mess in her open jewelry box, the one with the inlaid silver and jade. I always loved to run my finger along the pattern but she would swat it away. Gently of course. Auntie June was never rude or brusk like Uncle Lee. She told me my fingertips contained oil and would change the look of the piece of art. I'll never forget that week when I was seven and wouldn't dare touch anything for fear of my fingertip oils.

He called me to help and I can see why. Doesn't look like he has even tried to sort through her things.

Poor Auntie June, she always said she'd make it out of here. Who would've believed it would be on her death?

Her royal purple divan looks wretched. I'd never noticed the faded patches and the tears before. I can remember her lounging there with a cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth. She'd never smoke around me but she said she couldn't help being prepared. The moment I would leave she'd head outside and light up. I know because one time I turned around and came back for my backpack, which I'd left under a chair.



I watched her through the window on her back deck, dragging on the cigarette like it was a lifeline.

I glance to the other corner of her room and see her lighted vanity and bench. Her name still blazing though lights long gone out. She was a star once, she would tell me.

I walk over and sit on her bench, running my fingertips across the name June. She always loved her name and I have always loved sharing it with her.