Cole has Sumara, a girl ten years his junior, hidden in his basement. a blanket for cover and a shell, of many decades old, for luck, is all that is really her own. But how much luck will she have, however, when Cole's family are about to sell their house, and a poster appears, requesting any information about a couple's missing young girl?


3. Letters to Auntie Mina

That night I composed my first letter to my aunt. Under the lamplight which I hoped attracted no attention from my sister, Addie, who had a habit of sneaking into people's rooms. My auntie Mina had been cut off from the rest of the family years ago, when she and Mother had had a disagreement. This disagreement was known by almost nobody except both of them, and my Father, after countless times asking why we could not take the very short drive to her house, or why she could not come herself, tell us stories or make us laugh with the jokes she claimed founded from the food she ate. Why she could not send us that special food so we made our classmates laugh. Why, on the same day of the same month, every year, Auntie Mina was never in sight, he said because they hated each other, and were no longer sisters. More like strangers, in fact, who had met on a very bad day and wished never to see each other again.

In the letter I asked her about family. About each and every person and their role. And if really, everybody had a role, what was it and how do you go about completing it to perfection? I told her about my discovery of new life, and asked whether discoveries really mattered. How can you look after a discovery when at times it is almost beyond your reach. Your reasoning. Your sanity. Your mind? If this discovery was something special, wouldn't you always be there to nurture it?

Dear Auntie Mina,

What is care and compassion? And this probably sounds a little too far-fetched, but what is life? If there is new life, one like that of a new born baby. A new discovery. What would you do, Auntie Mina, if your discovery had life?

I read and re-read the letter. I tried to understand it , to place wha it was trying to say. I couldn't, and it was in the waste-paper bin, torn into the smallest pieces before I could decide otherwise. I began a new one.

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