• I sit alone on the sofa in the living room, just as I do everyday. And though today, May 18th, is my birthday, why stray from my daily routine? Today is my sixteenth birthday, though it feels the same as yesterday and the day before and every other day leading up to this one. Not once have I been surprised since Peter was drafted. My only friend, only family, only brother, Peter was taken away from me just thirteen months ago. And since that day, I have fallen into a regular schedule; get dressed, sit, drink tea, read and occasionally go to the market. I have based my entire life around my brothers return, everyday waking up hopeful of his arrival, but going to bed saddened by his absence. I remember when brother was still here, father and mother too and we would all celebrate my birthday together. We'd go into town and shop in London. That was the great part of living in England. Sometimes we would even get ice cream, only when the weather was nice though. We were so happy, and then the accident happened. It left my brother and I alone, Peter had to provide for us both, but since he left, I have had to run our flower shop by myself. It's enough for rent and to keep food on my plate which is all I really need anyway. As I sit and read, I occasionally look up from my book and gaze across the landscape from my window, scanning the horizon for new arriving ships. The ocean looks so vast, so far. Brother could be anywhere on that water.
    I hear a knock at the door. It could only be one person- Jack. Jack is a friend of Peter's. He comes by every week or so just to check up on me, the only break in my mundane existence. Before I open the door, I look in the mirror nailed to the window pane. My straw hat swoops downwards, concealing one of my blue eyes, obscuring my vision. My face holds no expression. My dark brown hair lazily rests against my chest and shoulders, curling slightly at the tips. It has almost reached my waist now, and limply swings from side to side as I move, as does my green dress. The color no longer is vibrant, but rather a faded olive. I notice the heel of my shoe is in plain sight, the dress no longer covers my shoes. I suppose I will need to let the hem down, I have needed to for a long time now. The sun glints off of one of the brass buttons , only one though, the others are older. They are scratched and no longer shine as the one in the center of my chest. I recently replaced it so it shines brightly. I look at myself once more in the small mirror. Not much has changed since I was fifteen, no growth spurt, my hair while longer, is still the same cut and color. A birthday doesn't mark growth, so much as time. That's all it is. So why celebrate it?
    I answer the door and slightly upturn my lips, to seem more friendly. He sits down, and talks just like every other visit. I smile, genuinely this time, as he recites one of his jokes or tells me a story. Soon after, he leaves and my face becomes emotionless again. Not one word of my birthday, but really I had not expected him to remember, in fact I knew he wouldn't. I haven't told him my birthday. It's a security system, I suppose, a way to keep everything and everyone at arms length. A birthday is just one thing that everyone on earth can relate to. As soon as someone knows your birthday, when that time comes around they buy you things or plan a party and in return you are expected to do the same. It's just part of building a relationship. Though, life easier this way, not bonding with people, keeping to myself, living alone, waiting for the one person who really matters. It sounds unhealthy and undoubtedly is but it is how I am, how I choose to live. Sometimes I long for human relations, but then remember how they can hurt, how they can destroy you so much that you wish to never see another human again. It is just safer not to risk it. And so, I sit back down in the parlor chair, open my book and read, isolated, distracting myself from my loneliness just one more day.