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Susanna told me once that she loved the sound of crickets. She said it made her feel safe. She talked to the crickets often, offering her voice to the gentle symphony of wings floating above the hum of the night. And when the music rose in crescendo, Susanna swore the crickets were talking back to …

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She’s gone. Everyone is looking for her, including me. The last time I saw her, she was sprinting at full tilt through the darkness, trying to escape the clutches of her giggling friends behind her. Then… she fell.  I don’t remember her falling. I don’t remember the gaping fear in the pit of her chest …

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