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H I M
It was a quiet evening at Hilltop, the light a fading shade of lilac as the day met twilight. I leant against the back porch railing and took deep breath, admiring the calm atmosphere of the settlement, knowing inside my home was nothing but chaos.
Fortunately, the only mayhem in my life was the good kind, the busy kind. It was not the disarray of war or starvation or death that I had lived with so long ago. It was the simple frenzy of normalcy, and on that particular day there had been certain havoc over my daughter's birthday.
Community gatherings were always made bigger than necessary; the feeling of wholeness, of society, (and an excuse to drink) being the reason behind. The party had gone well and the guests didn't leave too much of a mess. My father had stolen the show by giving the present of a bike, a small silver radio flyer, one I'm sure he spent months searching for on many different runs.
