Cloud covered skies, slow streams of melodies flow through the speakers, chatter filled aisleways, toes tapping in boots, impatience, impatiently waiting for Sunshine. Fingers fiddling with records, scanning through shelves, eyes wandering out the window, searching for Sunshine. Guitar riffs, drum beats, horns blaring, desperate for Sunshine.

A shift at Dorthea's now a chore, a minute without Sunshine becomes a hurricane, inescapable panic of grandiose proportion, each record set in its place another moment of hard gusts of wind and blasts of rain. Each note, the eye of the storm, has now turned into more storm filled static. A singular ray of light shining a path to serenity, the true eye of the storm--counterfeit golden streams of light casted over slowly overgrowing waves of once hidden but now glowing crimson, verdant pastures with roaming pupils, thin stalks of sunflowers stretching up towards the heavens for a chance to bask in flickers of sugared sunbeams.

A once over of plastic coatings and paper covers in a selfishly valiant mission for song, tunes to treat the tenaciously turbulent thoughts of a singular streak of Sunshine. Each one plucked from the field of musical mastery brought into a bouquet of hand-selected tracks for her, hidden behind a wooden barrier to prevent dawdling globes from snatching the precious petals of florally decorated albums.

Each traveler through aisles, young and old, brings forth more momentary distraction from the desperate demand for the shining star's nourishment. Each question of artistry pushes the peculiarly pleasant daydreams of warm touches of sunlight against my skin to the back of my mind, only to be tugged back to the forefront of my brain and tug at the strings of my love muscle more violently than prior.

The Sun rests just beyond the horizon, stretching its knowledge out thin in order to preserve its reflections of humanity and strengthen its mirroring of each soul's story. It will soon rise to meet a weak sunflower that begs for its presence, it will not labor for hours before granting the vegetation their needed resource, it will come steadfastly and truly, wrapping rays of heat around the stalks of the plants and reaching for their roots, touching each part of the dying flora to straighten its spine and liven its petals, bringing life back to the deceased, finding the lost.

"Harry," shouts my grandmother.

Only a few moments more of darkness, the night is to shed its star speckled skies and allow the Sun to smash its stark shadows.

I saunter through aisles, a bouquet of melodies mangled in my arms. "Yes?"

"Why're all these records behind th-," she asks as she looks to the mountain of records in my grasp, a smile stretching across her wrinkled features. "Saving them for someone special? A crooner lovin', pancake eating someone?"

The darkness engulfing the dying sunflower being much more enduring than that of the wise old oak, she's experienced the blazing Sunshine for many more seasons than I, her roots firmly placed in stable soil, seeing the ever changing landscape of the Sun's dominion. She too has experienced the loss of light, the devastation of a failed harvest and the measly remnants of a once thriving grassland.

The grip on the vinyls concealed by silky paper tightens, the features of my face drop.I've tried my damndest to remain cold and distanced but the warm and welcoming nature of a place I'd always admired has me struggling to keep the icy exterior from thawing and defrosting my barely beating love muscle.

The sharpest of burns down my throat and darkest of nightmares, the armour around my heart, is no match for the honest sword of savor that my grandmother carries sheathed in kind words and kinder actions. Her sword is much more visible than that of my calloused grandfather, his sword rests guarded by the wreckage of metal and bone, scattered blood and a drunk of a grandson.

"I catch you plastered, you're done."

Those were the words that seethed through his broken heart on the long distance telephone call. Followed by my meek grandmother's, "We'll help you dear."

"I don't know what your deal is but you better get your ass over it. If I catch you treating my customers like shit or coming into work reeking of alcohol like some cheap hooker I'm kicking your ass to the curb."

Those were the words seethed through a tattered soul in the back of a store. Followed by my meek grandmother's return with sugary sweets.

Sugary sweets.

Pancakes and chocolate chips.

Forkfuls of fluff, mouthfuls of mush.

Warm light.

Light, breezy.

Sunshine.

"Harry." My grandmother breaks my thoughts.

I glance back to see a hope-filled expression, "Huh?"

"Why're we hiding merchandise?"

I shrug, "It'll all end up back down here. Promise."

Pinky?

Promise, Pinky Promise.

Soft hands.

Soft words.

Soft, sleepy eyes.

Bedroom eyes.

Light, breezy.

Sunshine.

"Harry Edward." My grandfather's voice booms from the back of the store.

The moss that spreads across the old oak's thick bark, an eyesore. Its commensalistic relationship neither hindering or promoting the old oak's growth, the tree grows used to the moss, desires its presence simply to be in its company.

I glance up to my grandmother, her face just as full of bewilderment as mine. "I'd go back there if I was you, H."

I let the various records spill across the desktop before whisking back to the cumbersome company of my grandfather. His stature easily showing his short temper, a temper set off by the slightest of inclement weather. A singular drop of rain on the wrong day leads to days without a smile on the man's face, a drop of rain, a distasteful under-the-breath comment, easily one and the same.

"Where the hell is our stock disappearing to?" He gestures towards the emptying shelves in the groove that so often catches Sunshine's brightest rays.

I give him a slight glare, "Who's listening to that shit besides me?"

His mouth falls slightly agape, the corners of his mustached lips turning up, "I known a certain someone who listens to that shit." The smile peeking through falls just as fast as it appeared, "Harry Edward if you hurt that poor girl, I'll shove my foot so far up your ass you'll be able to taste it."

My glare deepens, "Who the hell said anything about Phoebe?" My eyes widen as the name tumbles from my lips.

"I knew it!" My grandmother shouts as finds the two of us, throwing a triumphant fist into the air.

My grandfather's harsh voice catches my attention again, "That girl has been through more than you know, she doesn't need another junkie asshole in her life.

Another?

"I can't be around a drunk, I can't do it. My mother-" Her vulnerability halted by hesitation.

The only clue she'd given to a faded burden was the slip of the tongue she'd had about her mother, quick to catch it, she provided no further knowledge on her past.

I haven't had a drink the past four days, Wednesday night being the last time I'd indulged myself in the sinful spirit. A gauntlet of dark liquor after a restless sleep full of tormented, grotesque fantasies. Anything to quiet the bustling winds that carried the ear-piercing screeching of brakes and crunch of metal.

"George, dear, the boy is simply saving some records for her. No need for smoking ears." She says as she swats lightly at his shoulder. A soft smile shot my way, the sword slicing the iron-clad armor hung across my chest and piercing the hardened muscle of my heart, a single stream of blood dripped, warmth filling my chest, liquifying the frozen thew of my ticker.

My grandfather's arm wraps around her shoulder, a kiss pressed to her temple, "Yes, dear."

The Sun should be rising anytime now, sapphire skies diluted into lavender and rose tinted sunrises, saccharine tangerine and golden streaks spreading across the once dark night.

I clear my throat, "What's the time?"

My grandfather looks down to the watch on his wrist, "Quarter after three."

The Sun's been delayed, the rotation of the earth forcing the dying greenery to hold its weakening self tall as it continues to silently beg for the Sun's acquaintance.

"Waiting for someone, darling?" My grandmother speaks up.

"Uh," I pause, "She was just supposed to pick these records up." Thirty minutes ago.

Petals fall. Leaves wilt. Stem slumps. Roots wither.

"I just saw her run past the window, about five minutes ago." My grandfather adds, "Must've had to go to work or something, always helping somebody out, real nice girl."

Petals gain color. Leaves strengthen. Stem straightens. Roots extend.

I'm practically sprinting out the door, I'm stopped by the spitting of rain from the sky, she loves rain. The world is vulnerable when it rains.

Rounding the corner, seeing her at the top of the platform, fists banging harshly on the door, shouted words muffled by falling rain. Satin sage rests against her skin, her elongated legs restless as frantic fists punch the door firmly.

Bright Sunshine, but not so light and breezy, cloud covered, rainstorms cover her rays. The feverish movement of her body evident of struggle. Water droplets continue to fall onto her precious figure, hair sticking to the angles of her face.

I reach the top of the steps, reaching out for her. My arms wrap around her waist, met with swats to my hands and yelps from her cyanated lips. "Let go. Stop." Her stature is stiff and anxious.

"It's just me, Sunshine." I choke out from behind her. Her body slumps back against mine, no less anxious than before. My hands brush her shoulders and kisses planted to her exposed skin. "I'm here, I'm here, Sunshine. Come on, let's get you inside."

She nods and I pull the door open, we step inside and she immediately falls to the ground in a heap of sobbing bones. Her shoulders rattle as silent cries shake her ribs. Cloud covered skies, steady rain, Sunshine to come. The sunflower will have to wait for the Sun, absorb the steady showers through its roots and pray that the storm ends soon.

"Hey, hey, hey," I fall to the floor with her, gripping her arms with my hands, "What's happened?"

She shakes her head, a frighteningly menacing laugh escapes her typically shiny soul, "I should have known. I should've known better."

"Known what?" I ask, fearing that a blackhole has come to take my Sunshine away.

"She'll never change and I'll never learn." My gaze is met with hers, a fiercely angered expression splashed across her reddened cheeks, tears falling steadily, leaving trails of saline down her flushed skin.

Dark, Whipping.

Storms.

A faint what attempts to fall from my lips but she continues before it can fully said, "My mother, my cracked out bitch of a mother, waited outside my class. I got out after an already uncomfortable class and there she is, standing there, a scarily familiar look on her face, a smugness I know all too well. I tried to just walk past her," a short sob interrupts her scrambling, "But she kept stepping in front of me, telling me that she was right, I never did amount to anything. Then, I asked Sam if he could walk me to Nick's car because I thought he'd help me."

My teeth press together and my jaw clenches at the mention of his name. A self-absorbed cloud of the darkest type, a cumulonimbus. He was outwardly kind to her, sure, but each of his absent minded afflicted actions towards my Sunshine was clear. He cared not for her mind or her soul, but her energy, her light. He absorbed it half-heartedly, ignoring her interests and dismissing her dignified detestments. Every shitty coffee bought, every shitty record bought, every tear she cried, all accumulated into one thing, a cumulonimbus cloud disguised as a cumulus.

"But he said it he didn't have the time and left me to fend for myself. My mother threatened to tell my professor about my past, every mistake I made--every time I fought back, or almost got her arrested. She told me that all I could do to stop it was keep my mouth shut and give her the money she deserved, her money that I took away."

She quickly stands up from the ground, pushing me aside like a discarded toy she no longer finds comfort in. Her permanently panicked state forcing her to scrape at the skin on her fingertips and tug at the drenched hair on her head, she walks over to the kitchen table muttering curses under her breath before taking one of the two chairs and kicking it over with her foot, "Piece of shit, telling me I-," her sentence trails off into silence as she continues to destroy an already chaotic space.

A pile of old newspapers being her next target, she pushes them off of a side table, "I am more than-." Her light engulfed by dark clouds, her mind a dungeon of despair, I've seen it before, it's evident from the shadow in her eyes she tries so desperately to hide. Her mind is a cell--no key anywhere to be found, bars made of strong dark steel, walls covered in mirrors, she's forced to reflect on every aspect of herself until all she sees is a mutilated version of herself, she's forced to stare her mistakes in the face for hours on end, she lives a life sentence of reflection, found guilty of crimes she never committed.

She crouches down on the ground, gripping her hair tightly between tensed fingers, her soaked strands stretched from their roots by the power of her pull. "I let her, she was ri-," an inhuman sound crawls up her throat, a scream so guttural it sends bile up my throat, a scream so familiar I'm sent into a staring spiral at the wall.

"All she ever did was make promises she couldn't keep."

The slow spinning spiral fades from my view, my hypnosis destroyed by her words. I look over to her, "What promises?"

She looks up to me as I stand on the over side of the coach, arms bracing on the backing, "I- nothing."

I shake my head, my voice raising to a volume it shouldn't, "What promises?"

"Promises I shouldn't have believed." She says weakly, defeat dripping in her tone.

"Phoebe, what promises?" I snap.

She stands up, walking over to the mess of news articles, not a word spoken. Her shaking hands placing the disheveled editorials back in their place, she mouths words to herself. She glances at me with a look of complete distrust as she picks up the chair she'd toppled over previously.

"Phoebe." My tone is stern as I feel the bile only grow more acidic in my throat and my face burn red hot. Broken promises, something I know far too well, something I've become an expert in. Unkempt sentiments of trust, a notion in which the foundation of myself has been built from. A slow laugh seeths through my lips, "I forgot, no strings, right."

She turns to me, an angerfilled expression of pure disappointment scalding her quait features, "Fuck you, honestly, fuck you. I grow up with a fuckin' addict for a mother and a jailbird for a father and I-." She freezes, the look on her face switches to embarrassment, to betrayal.

I stare back at her unsurprised, it was evident to me that had a mother who was an addict, the father notion was shocking, however. If her father was a convict, why was he spending Christmas with her? "Sunshine, you can tell me you know? I can handle it."

"No, it's- I can't."

"Illuminate me, please."

She sighs, sitting down in the chair, her head down as her gaze falls to the floor, "My mother was a meth addict, anything she could get her hands on addict actually. She was constantly falling off the deep end, binges lasted days, weeks even. When she was sober, her patience was thin, she'd snap at us and hit us. When she was faded, her patience was nonexistent, she'd beat us to a bloody pulp and then beg for our forgiveness, tell us if we told anyone they'd take us away, and that, 'You don't want mommy to go away do you?' Each time I caught her it was the same, the same promises were made, 'If you just let mommy have this weekend, I'll take my girls for ice cream,' or, 'I'll buy you a new book Phoebe Mae,' or my personal favorite, 'Mommy will let you go to school everyday this week if you leave her alone.' Each time, a promise was broken and so were bones or blood vessels, each time it seemingly got worse, it got worse because," she chokes on the emotion that is fighting to be brought to the surface, "Because I believed her every single time. I fell for it. Every. Single Time."

I look at her dumbfounded, no thoughts follow, I can't even begin to think of what to say. Sunshine, my Sunshine, I'd seen her as a bright light but she is just as stuck in the dark as I am and I have a feeling I haven't even scratched the surface of the cataclysmic abyss she lives in.

"And I thought that when Bob came, when he brought smiles onto our joyless faces, that maybe she'd stop for good. And she did stop, for the first few months, and then she only got worse, sleeping with anyone who'd give her the fix she craved, being gone for months at a time, coming back with a vengeance against us. Getting her out of my life was the most painstaking process and yet she still weasels her way back in, she can't come back now. Too much is on the line for her to be back, Teddy has Eddie and Nick and Bob can't afford to take her to court again and-," she takes a long composing breath, "And I won't be able to live through another threat upon my life."

I step over to her, bending down to squat in front of her, her eyes are so bloodshot that they appear pained, my hands fall to her knees, "She's not going to. You and Teddy have everyone in this godforsaken town to protect you, no one is going to let her get you."

Her head shakes slowly as her sight meets mine, "I'm just like her, you know?"

My palms wrap tightly around her legs, shaking them slightly, "Sunshine, you are not her."

"But I am, I'm short tempered and stubborn, I don't have any friends, I don't have a successful career or any kind of lasting relationship. I don't trust anyone I don't know, I'm paranoid beyond belief, I constantly lie to the people care about. I'm no better than her or my father."

"Bob?"

Her eyes close as her shaky breaths ravage her lungs, "My father has been in and out of jail since I was three. Bob married my mother when I was about six. I wish I could say that I am like Bob and Teddy but I'm not, I'm just like her."

"You're not her, you'll never be her, you're too kind to be her." I mutter out as I take in her exhausted features.

"I'm just as big a burden."

I stand up, reaching my hands out to her, she places her trembling hands in mine and I pull her to stand, I walk her over to my bed and toss us both back onto the comforter. The weight of her burden that she's placed onto my shoulder has given leeway to her brain, but the mirrors' constant reflection tells her that it's a weight I can't carry, a weight she should have to drag around. If her aching muscles desire to carry weight, I'll place my heaviest burden on her shoulders. "My parents are dead."

Our meeting vision shows a collective acknowledgement, she's been aware, I'd figured. The loose-lipped waitresses of this shit town were the first clue that nothing is kept a secret for long around here. Her doe eyes present a sympathetic air, the clouds are lightening. "Teddy told me. A car accident"