San Pedro High Principal Jeanette Stevens teaches students how to make pie.

To Launch San Pedro High’s After School Cooking Club, The Principal Shakes and Bakes with Her Students 14 Holiday Pies

Students Find They Like The Principal And Her Family Holiday Tradition

By Diana L. Chapman

   San Pedro High students scored this past week when their principal decided to teach them personally about one of her family holiday traditions – how to bake  pumpkin and Southern pecan pies almost entirely from scratch.

   As students kneaded, lumped, and rolled pastry to make pie crusts-- many of them having never baked a pie in their lives before -- said they were astounded that their principal, Jeanette Stevens, took the time out to work with them.

    “It’s not every day you’re making pies with your principal,” explained Jose Hernandez, 16, about why he came. “I’ve never done a pie. I don’t really know how to cook at all. I use to think it was so complicated. But it seems really simple.

Jose Hernandez enjoys learning how to make pies for his first time.

     “Mrs. Stevens is a great teacher. She has patience even when we asked the same question again and again.”

    Jesse Vasquez, 13, added: “She’s not strict and stuff. She’s teaching kids about life. I love cooking and I want to be a chef when I grow up. I like it because it gives me the freedom to create.”

   While wearing a red-checked apron and scurrying around patiently to teach a whirlwind of some 15 chatty and happy students, Stevens said she found it “incredibly refreshing” to be back in a classroom with kids – especially when it involves bowls, spoons, eggs, flour, sugar and pecans. Stevens launched the after school cooking club’s first session Monday, which was funded by the San Pedro Coastal Neighborhood Council.  The council provided  $1,000 to support the culinary opportunity.

Students chatting away excitedly while baking.

    That’s particularly important since the once popular culinary class, which had waiting lists in the hundreds, was closed due to budget cuts for the past three years. It has periodically reopened, but not for more than a semester.

   But with this opportunity, students had a chance to check out their skills. As they gleefully kibitzed, they whipped up a frothing egg mix, poured in pecans, got flour on their faces, their clothes and on the floor – but were really appreciative and surprised that Stevens took her own time out to work with them.

   “I really feel I connected with the principal more than I ever have,” said student leader Elizabeth Do, 17, a senior who is president of the school’s Key Club, co-president of the Community Outreach Club and a member of the school’s Academic Decathlon. “There’s so many of us in the day, so it’s definitely hard to connect.

   “I feel like I got to know her. My perspective has changed, because now she’s someone I can relate too. She’s just a wonderful principal to take the time out to do this with us.”

    Moments were often holiday jolly – especially once English teacher Anthony Saavedra arrived to make fresh whip cream. Stevens and Saavedra had a pie-off competition amongst the staff last year, but the faculty voted that Stevens sweet treats were the best.

  “You can tell how political the staff is,” Saavedra joked. “She won.”

Jesse Vaquez shows off her pie creation with teacher Anthony Saavedra

  Once the crusts were ready and the students started making the mix, Stevens warned them that there’s a lot of debate on how to put pecans in the pie. She said she folds hers into the mix, but others believe they should be placed down on the crust where they can “float to the top.”

   “There are people who argue how to put the pecans in the pie,” Stevens told the kids. “It’s up to you.”

   To make a go of the after school cooking club, the campus needed outside funding.

  Long supporters of area schools, the Coastal Neighborhood Council offered funds for the club partly because of all the severe budget cuts that have swept away life skills programs, such as home economics and auto shop.

   “This is something our board felt is a worthwhile activity, not just for learning self-reliance, it gives students constructive things to do after school,” said the council treasurer John Stinson. “It’s teaching them something that is useful. These are skills you need in everyday life.”

   Stevens said what prompted her to do the first lesson was her interest in sharing her family holiday traditions. Much of what she cooks, she learned from her grandmother, who is now 92.  Every year around the holidays, she and her girlfriend come together make 20 to 25 pies, including mincemeat, pecan, pumpkin and sometimes apple.

  “My passion is kids,” beamed the principal. “This is so nice to be here and see so many kids interested in a tradition that’s gone by the wayside.”

   Student Rita Marquez said the experience showed that something like baking can pull people together and: “It shows us that anyone can do it, from the principal to the students,” she said smiling. “It’s pretty universal.”

Kimberly Hernandez shows off here nearly finished pecan pie.

Bonnie Sheehan is closing her 15-year-old small dog rescue, Hearts for Hounds, in Long Beach after people quit adoption once thriving non-profit. She's headed back east with 60 dogs.

BONNIE  SHEEHAN – THE WOMAN WHO’S  RESCUED 17,000 PLUS SMALL DOGS IN HER LIFETIME --  RELUCTANTLY RETIRES HER LONG BEACH RESCUE AND PLANS TO TAKE SOME SIXTY DOGS WITH HER TO VIRGINA

By Diana L. Chapman

Scrambling “to put together our pennies,” small dog rescuer Bonnie Sheehan sadly began this month to hang up the leash, pack up her dog crates and save her remaining 60 small canines by moving them across the country.

It was not a departure she wanted, but was forced into due to dwindling pet adoptions that once helped her keep the doors open to continue her non-profit rescue, Hearts for Hounds, in Long Beach.

“I’m not crying,” said Sheehan who has saved thousands of the small creatures such as poodles, pugs, Tibetan terriers and found them loving homes. “I am not going to have a defeatist attitude. We’ve got plans and we’re not afraid to change. But we are going to be flying by the seat of our pants.”

Sheehan settled on Virginia after contacting several pet rescues there that indicated small canine adoptions were still flourishing, unlike here, where the economy has taken a deep toll on humans and animals alike.  She plans to leave mid- December and currently is still adopting out – but not taking in any more dogs.

Part of the reason for her departure is she could no longer bark up the $7,000-a-month kennel bill.

If Sheehan is not crying, I am. When Hearts for Hounds was financially healthy, Sheehan and her team purchased dogs from shelters the day they were scheduled to receive the needle of death. Sheehan’s team cleaned them up and made them beautiful, getting rid of mange, ticks, fleas and restoring their health.

My 82-year-old mother’s dog, Dara, was one Sheehan swooped in and saved. The cuddly and loving Havanese has brought my mother so much joy and light that I can’t help but wonder how many more Dara’s are on death row. My family has since adopted two more dogs from Hearts for Hounds, a bearded collie-poodle mix and another Havanese.

Due to Sheehan’s crises, she asked the thousands who adopted from her to send in $10 each to Hearts for Hounds to help make the move.  Only $800 trickled in.

Instead, Sheehan borrowed about $8,000 from a close friend to close the deal in October. She purchased an 11-acre piece of property  in Huddleston, Virginia –near Blacksburg.

 It includes a moderate house, a shack and a small shed. Initially, Sheehan looked at the location with her friend, Pam King, and realized it would be impossible to pay the asking price of $169,000. 

Sheehan’s Virginia realtor “who always was on top of things,” however, notified them immediately when it was sharply reduced to $84,000 and a deal was cut.

The desperate action to move came after Sheehan noticed her popular adoptions – that once found homes for about  17 dogs a weekend begin to dwindle, first dropping to three, then to one – and then to none in the past four months. It was then the rescuer realized drastic measures were necessary so she could house the canines she still cares for, including the 18 “duds” so fearful of people they are unadoptable.

Those dogs will always live with Sheehan, she said.

Heartbroken to close her Long Beach doors  after running  the rescue for 15 years, she said she still needs donations to focus on the work ahead that needs to be done at her new kennel. She will obtain a full time job, she said, to help pay for it.

“We have to build a fence and we have to get a kennel permit,” she said. “We also have to have a business license to become a non-profit.”

Once a successful fashion consultant, Sheehan landed in rescues accidentally after becoming lost in the Los Angeles Garment District.

There she spotted a group of men using a bloodied pug as yo-yo, relentlessly dropping the small canine into the snapping teeth of a pit bull that was ripping her apart. A screaming Sheehan leaped out of her car yelling “give me that dog.”

The men threw the pug, dripping in blood, at her. The next thing Sheehan knew she found herself racing in her brand new BMW with baby blue seats to the veterinarians, getting splashed with blood along the way.

The good news: Daisy, the pug, survived and became her mother’s companion.

That day changed Sheehan forever. First she began as a shelter volunteer fixing and cleaning dogs up for adoption, but  was devastated when she returned the following day to find the canines had been killed.

That’s when she started Hearts for Hounds and led thriving adoptions for years – often at Alamitos Farmer’s Market in Long Beach.

The heart wrenching change prevents Sheehan from buying and saving any dogs from the shelter. “Those days are gone,” she said.

With the move, she plans to take on a full-time job and was delighted that King, a long time friend who has helped her with the rescue for years who had no plans to move to found Virginia , suddenly fell in love with the state’s beauty – and then spotted a home that fit her perfectly.

King purchased it and is about 45 minutes from Sheehan’s new kennel where she will continue her volunteer services.

The two are astounded by the coincidences such as the property falling by $65,000 – to a price that fit the budget  and that King, who wasn’t searching, stumbled on a home that had the colors and requirements she wanted.

Both women are already geared up to find ways to make money to support the kennel besides working full time.

“We are not going to sit around and wait,” Sheehan said. “There’s a million things you can do. You just can’t sit and wait.”

The friends are already preparing to start an on-line bakery service called Le’ Delectable, which will feature an old Italian Biscotti recipe, a shortbread recipe King received from her mother-in-law in Scotland and Sheehan’s  mother’s chocolate brownies with pistachios.

Each piece will have a dog tag replica and all the proceeds will go directly back to Hearts for Hounds.

Sheehan is not new the food business either. From 2005 to 2006, she took a break from her dog rescue and opened the Celtic Café in the Jefferson National Forest, also near Blacksburg.

 A friend ran the non-profit while she was gone, but Sheehan decided she missed her dog companions too much and returned to Long Beach.

Despite that the dog rescue currently doesn’t look bright, Sheehan said “We are counting our blessings rather than dwelling on the nightmare.”

Sheehan can be reached at (562) 597- 9587. Because she is frequently swamped, call several times. To see what she has for currently up for adoptions, visit www.heartsforhounds.com.  Donations can be sent to Hearts for Hound Kennel  at 1356 Obispo Avenue, Long Beach.

Why I’m Endorsing LAPD Officer Joe Buscaino To Take Up The Reins Of The Open Los Angeles City Council Seat

By Diana L. Chapman

A woman told me a Joe Buscaino story the other day.

Her son, who’s mentally ill, was arrested for stealing $1, an amount so small it wasn’t even worth putting him in handcuffs. But he was arrested anyway.

Distraught, the mother asked several officers to help her with her son’s plight. They ignored her, she said, and couldn’t be bothered.

As soon as she caught up to Los Angeles Senior Lead Police Officer Joe Buscaino, however, she found a different kind of cop. He was sympathetic and helped her hook up with detectives. Most of all, he heard her out.

“I’m voting for him,” she added. I ditto that.

Ever since Buscaino, a 36-year-old father of two, announced he was running for former Los Angeles Councilwoman Janice Hahn’s seat, stories like this have bounced all around the Harbor area. And it only strengthens my resolve to endorse  Buscaino, who I’ve studied over the years as a good and honest cop, a collaborator and a youth advocate. (Yes, even with the fishy hit pieces that have gone out in the past few days.)

He’s the kind of candidate I believe whose heart won’t forget the little guy. Once I Iasked  him about a 14-year-old boy fatally gunned down on his porch on 6^th Street in San Pedro four years ago. The killing took place in broad daylight.

Buscaino became still, a tear coming to his eye. The question hit a sore spot. He was the officer who rode in the ambulance with the dying boy to the hospital, a ride he called “the longest in my life.” What made matters worse: the teen had been a student in his wife’s class at Dana Middle School in San Pedro.  A heartbroken Buscaino said: That boy “didn’t have support above ground or when he was in the ground.”

“Those stories are real and I experienced them,” the officer said. “This is what led me to this campaign.”

Ever since, he’s been a huge advocate for our youth. Like many of the 11 candidates, Buscaino says public safety is his number one issue. Fixing broken sidewalks, trimming trees, making sure there are after school programs for students are all part of the public safety canvas, he said.

He was irritated to find, when campaigning in Watts and Wilmington, that some areas didn’t even have paved streets, which he called unacceptable – and a priority on his public safety mission.

I believe with Buscaino’s efforts – where others are puffing themselves up with power and control – he will remain focused on our communities and what residents need. Instead of throwing money around to help kids stay out of gangs, he will be a leader and become part of the solution.

A tough officer when necessary,  Buscaino kept his heart and I suspect that we will see this same type of performance if he wins the council post.

Personally, I like having a guy with heart sitting on the Los Angeles council-- where it seems hearts are few and far between.

I see a man who will defend the little guy and what I mean by that is this -- his constituents. Unlike others, he won’t forget who he serves even when big money is flagged in his face.  I see a councilman with integrity.

Other reasons his supporters are voting for him in the Nov. 8 election, which is likely to wind up in a Feburary run-off, are:

--He’s lived in San Pedro all his life and comes from an Italian immigrant family. It’s not so much that he’s lived here, but that he has no plans to leave the home he loves. His father was a fisherman and his mother worked in the canneries, so he can understand the residents and their issues surrounding the Port of Los Angeles. “Our roots are here and we are embedded here,” the officer said, who added he won’t be trying to run off to congress. “I love this community and I will never leave this place.”

--He’s served the entire Harbor Area and worked in Watts and has a much better grasp of all those communities than many of the other candidates. As he continually says: “I’ve been on the streets,” he explained. “’I’ve been in the back alleys. I’ve been into people’s homes. I’ve been in the storefronts.”

--He’s showed his duty to public service – putting his life on the line as an officer for 15 years -- showing leadership amongst his comrades by bringing teens on board to help police fight crime – something never done before in the LAPD. He designed the Teen Community Police Advisory Board for teenagers to advise officers why and how youth crimes are happening in their community.

His vision met with such success – some teen crimes dropping  by half in the Harbor Area  – that it was extended across the Los Angeles Police Department. Now, 21 such teen boards exist in the LAPD.  “I will continue my love and compassion  for the youth of this community,” he added.

It’s also interesting to note the way Buscaino became a police officer. At the age of 21, after graduating from California State University, Dominguez Hills, the candidate became a youth leader at Bogdanovich Park in San Pedro.

LAPD Deputy Chief Pat Gannon, a lieutenant at the time, noticed his work with teenagers and the park administration and suspected he would make an excellent officer. He went by his instincts and recruited the young man.

“He had a great spirit about him,” said Gannon, who was a park advisory board member at the time. “His enthusiasm was contagious and he made every program at the park that he was involved in better. He was a great representative of the park and I just knew that he would do the same as a Los Angeles police officer.

“He did not disappoint me.”

Buscaino has not disappointed me either. He vows to work with the port in a conciliatory fashion to get things done and help secure the many necessities of life in Los Angeles, currently failing us, such as getting pot holes and sidewalks fixed. He also understands the world of fighting crime and will work toward protecting the residents of Council District 15.

Using his collaborative skills, he plans to bring the council district together to work for the overall betterment of the region, looking at as a whole rather than in scattered pieces.

Still, Buscaino is up against some pretty tall odds – trying to win against two heavy hitters – former Los Angeles City Councilman Rudy Svorinich Jr. who served CD-15  and Assembly Warren Furutani.

But this is the other reason I’m voting for the cop:

 I think he can do it.

Dear Readers:

This student has come to the Seven Golden Secrets to Writing Class for three  years.  I am so proud of her that a) that she keeps coming and b) that she loves to write.  She has developed many pieces over the years, but this is her first completion of larger project – a short story.  There are some grammatical mistakes in this piece but it seemed to flow with the voice of a 14-year-old so they are still in this piece. Here, with a supernatural flare to fit the season, is: No Marks, No Traces, Nowhere. Happy Howling on pumpkin day -- Diana

No Marks, No Traces, Nowhere

By Veronica Gray

The one time I left her house, I didn’t know that it would be the last time I’d see her the way she use to be. Some people say she died; others say she was captured.

 I still don’t know. I still don’t know what to believe.

 The last night I saw her alive the moon was covered by clouds. There was no noise while Nancy and I walked down a dim street. There was an eerie kind of feeling hanging in the air, but it always feels this way in the area where we live: Black Gate.

My friend, Nancy, wasn’t the  most social girl on the block. Some people had problems with her. She dressed in all black and had the quote “weird piercings,” unquote. She had a weird tattoo of a dark house, it was her house, stained into her pale wrist. I asked her what it stands for, but when I did, she’d shut down and her pale face paled even more. She’s had that odd tattoo as long as I can remember.

We were best friends since second grade. Well, not really. In the beginning, we were enemies. Unfortunately, I was the prissy, rich girl and I hated her, but one day my parents gambled away all of our savings and we became dirt poor. So none of my so-called “friends,” wanted to hang out with me anymore.

It was then Nancy started to talk to me.

I was sitting alone eating a sandwich watching my “friends” gossip, probably about me.

Nancy came up to me and sat on the other end of the table. I saw she had a pudding cup and I got jealous. I asked if she wanted to change her pudding for my fruit cup. She said no, but continued to talk to me. I got tired of ignoring her so I kept the conversation rolling. Besides, no one else was talking to me.

 All through lunch and after school we talked.

“Do you want to be my friend?” she asked me.  I got scared by that question.  Everything was going by so fast. I didn’t talk to Nancy for three days after that.  For those three days I was so lonely. I decided to talk to her again. I gathered up my stuff and walked towards her.

“Do you want to be my friend?” I asked her.

She replied with a huge grin, stretching from ear to ear.

“Yes,” she squeaked.

Now, I am 14 and after our last fight yesterday, I stormed out of the house.

We fought about the stupidest thing.  After history yesterday, during passing period, she didn’t wait for me. She left for her class.  I got so mad and disappointed that I was speechless.  I didn’t know what to say until I saw her.  I slowly exploded.

“So, where were you after 5^th period?” I asked.

“Umm, I left to 6^th period,” she said looking out into the horizon as if I didn’t exist.

“I was looking for you; you usually wait for me,” I looked at her. Her eyes met mine.

“Sorry,  I had to go, I was going to be late,” she veered to the right heading towards her front porch. I followed her. She seemed so aloof.

“Well we all have to make sacrifices,” I said. She slipped the key into the lock and the door flung open.  We dropped off our stuff.

Finally, she started to explain, but by now my irritation was expanding just because she was acting as if she didn’t care.

“Well, if I walked with you and waited for you then I would of gotten lunch detention and I think 30 minutes of lunch is better than two and a half minutes or passing period,” she threw her hand in the air.

 I couldn’t think of a good comeback.  If I said “still,” then I would lose.  I just picked up my stuff angrily and left hoping that it would be a good enough “burn.”

I fled her house as it started getting darker.  It wasn’t very cold or very hot, but I was sweating.  My heart was beating so fast. I didn’t notice anything unusual because of the creepy feeling that I usually get.  The only thing I did notice was that I didn’t have a shadow.  Then an odd sensation crept over me. I was sure someone was watching me as I left – and it wasn’t Nancy.

I stomped home and ran into my room and listened to “Smoke” by Suicide Silence. That was a Monday.

On Tuesday,  Nancy didn’t come to school. I thought that was odd because Nancy wouldn’t miss Taco Tuesday.

 I went over to her house when school ended and found it boarded up and a calamitous uproar going on along with flashing lights. The house was hugged by caution tape.  Even, the trees had caution tape.  It looked almost as if someone t.p.'ed her house with caution tape.  The police were there doing whatever police officers do alongside paramedics. Channel 4 news was there with the field reporter who has a peculiar moustache.  There was something about him that bothered me, it must have been his nasal voice or the fact that he reminds me of my English teacher.

“Wa-Whats going on here?” I tapped on a police officer’s shoulder.  He didn’t look down; I tapped his shoulder again.

“Little girl, please leave this for people who are supposed to be here,” he said. I left and tried to break into the back.  There was nothing to block my little secret “breaking-into-Nancy’s-house” spot.  I snuck in only to find a stuck up police officer: “ Young lady, this is a crime scene not a playground,” she spat out. “You need to leave now.”

My gut told me this was bad, more than bad. I raced home and turned on the news.

“Good evening,” said the same guy with a weird moustache that I hated.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m here at Black Gate where a 14 –year-old girl has been  reported dead. Nancy Cartwath apparently dropped dead in her home. Adding to the mystery is that her mother, Donna Cartwath, was brought to the police station for questioning, but dropped dead before she walked in the doors. The Coroner’s Office will do autopsies on both the girl and her mother. They don’t expect any answers for at least a week.”

I turned off the T.V. and dropped to the floor and just laid there on my stomach. My arm fell asleep under me, but why should I have move it. Nothing last forever. Everything dies.

“What are you doing on the floor!” my mom asked me as she peeked into the room.

“I like it here,” I mumbled quietly. It sounded more like a grunt.

“Jess, get up,” my mom ordered.

I got up from the floor and turned on the news for my mom. The story was being reported over and over again on every station.

“Oh, my gosh, Jessica, I am so sorry,” as she tried to hug me --- but I backed away and ran into my room.

I slammed my door. My room  smelled like sweat and Sharpies. My cycling pants and shirt shabbily were strewn across the floor stinking up my room.  I kicked them aside only to find a rotting sandwich. It probably tastes like dog food because it looks like dog food. I couldn’t stand it. So I walked out the door and got on my bike to ride to our secret park – mine and Nancy’s.

Our secret park is a piece of grass and a big, green, lush oak tree across from the graveyard. I got off my bike and laid on the grass thinking about nothing but Nancy. I heard a noise and I looked up across the street into the graveyard. I saw Nancy behind the gate grabbing the bars and looking right at me like she was stuck there. She looked frightened.

I ran to Nancy and I got to the gate. It was starting to get dark.

“Nancy! Nancy! ‘’ I screamed I was so happy to see her.

“Shhhh,” she put her fingers to her lips. She then turned around and walked away from me across the graveyard. The flat land was filled with nothing but rotting stacks of bones six feet under. The farther she got away from me, the more blurry she became.

I raced after her.  The moon moved behind a cloud and she vanished. I started to freak out.

I didn’t know what to do. Why is she there? Didn’t she die? I almost passed out. My heart was beating super fast, my adrenaline was pumping. I wanted to jump the gate and hug her, but how can I hug her? She is dead.

I just jumped on my bike and cycled home. I opened my bedroom door, the same awful smell greeted me as I walked in. I grimaced on my journey to my bed. My  scrapbooks were all over it. I was wondering how they got there, probably my mom put them there.

I collapsed on my bed looking through the interminable amount of embarrassing baby and family photos of me. Then came the section of me and Nancy:

Me and Nancy in second grade.

Me and Nancy in third grade.

Me and Nancy in fourth grade and so on until ninth grade.

Nancy and I went everywhere with each other. Mavis Park, cousin’s houses, even dental appointments. The only time we didn’t see each other …or stay in contact…was when we were showering or asleep unless it was a sleepover. The most awful moments for us was when we both had something else to do so we couldn’t see each other. That’s why it was strange that she didn’t pick me up after class. We were inseparable.

My favorite photo of the two of us was when she actually was smiling at the camera. In all of her school photos, she never smiled let alone looked at the camera.

When I came to my favorite photo of the two of us, my face was scratched out. As I went on flipping pages, the only person missing was me. I was torn out of each page. What had happened? Who would do that? I couldn’t blame Nancy. She was dead. My mother would never have done that. I didn’t have any sisters or brothers to blame.

I closed the book and stared up at the ceiling. My heart was beating so heavily and quickly that I could feel it pound in my toes. I jumped out of bed and ran outside to the safest placed I used to know – Nancy’s house.

I ran and ran and ran without stopping until I got there. The place was still boarded up, but one window was broken. There were lights on and I heard laughing like a family.  I saw two shadows in the window. The day was gloomy and the sun began fading like the day I stomped out of Nancy’s house for the last time. I went to the window and looked inside.

There was Nancy and her mom sitting on the couch with a bowl of popcorn, watching Tosh.0.

“Hey Jess, come inside,” Nancy said. Her mom was cracking up about a comment Daniel Tosh said about a YouTube video, almost like everything was back to normal. I climbed through the window trying to look as casual as I could, almost like I climbed through broken windows of my dead friend’s house everyday so I could eat popcorn with her.

I sat down on the couch. It looked normal, but I felt that sensation again like someone was watching me. I stayed there even though I was beginning to freak out. I fell asleep and woke up the next morning.

“Oh my God, school! I have to get to school! I shouted as I jumped up. “My mother is going to kill me if I go back to get my backpack. Oh, no I forgot my homework.”

 I started freaking out.

“Hah, ha, ha…It’s Sunday sweetie. You don’t have school,” Donna gloated.

There was something different about them like something dead or evil. I couldn’t stand being in that house a minute longer. I opened the door to go outside. I was surprised when I opened the door that the house wasn’t boarded up anymore. The trees, grass and plants were dead and all the shadows quivered toward me – as though they were attracted to me

All the trees and houses in the back and front to me were burning and fell apart into a white background. I was cornered in the house. I walked back in.

‘Sweetie, you can’t go outside. They will get you,’” Donna said with a giggle and a twinkle in her cold, brown eyes and a big smile showcasing all of her white teeth.

I opened the door to step outside again, but there wasn’t any outside, only inside. “Only an inside,” my voice repeated over and over.  

It’s  a house in an island of white sea with no way home.

I’m stranded in a house of my dead friend. The same house tattooed on Nancy’s left wrist.  She held up her left arm as a gesture to sit down on the couch.  There was something different. She didn’t have the tattoo anymore.

“Where’s the tattoo? I asked, quivering with fear. I always hated that thing.

Nancy giggled, more and more, and then so did her mother until their laughter began to echo off the walls, hurting my ears.

 I sat stunned as it slowly crept into my brain that we’d all been sucked into Nancy’s evil tattoo. I was never going home. There were no marks, no traces of where we went. We were nowhere —except in a house stranded forever on a white sea.