Frank was not a zombie. Apparently he had needed some extra time to heal his brain, but after the “accident” he was himself again. Although he seemed a little distrusting towards me. I guess he thought I was hiding something from him, which I was, but I doubted he could figure out what it was. We were both cranky and moody to eachother, and often had a fight.

I was feeling very powerful, like I could not be harmed by Frank. I had to remind myself that that wasn't true. If he planned to hurt me, he certainly could. But I could kill him...

One sunny day I went shopping, Frank stayed home, he was probably happy that I went out. I also enjoyed the time alone, and strolled by the shops and markets. Somewhere along the way, I took a road that I didn't know and wandered into an unfamiliar neighbourhood. I didn't mind, it was nice to see something new. I enjoyed the sun glistening in de windowpanes, the flowers in the gardens and happy dogs running in the parks. I lit a cigarette and watched the smoke drift away. It was a good day.

For a moment I sat down on a bench and watched some children play on swings and in a sandpit. They were laughing and throwing sand at eachother. Could Frank and I have kids, the way things were right now? I doubted it, and my earlier selfconfidence flooded out of me like blood out of an open wound. I inhaled the smoke of my sigarette deeply, to try to get the happy mood back, but the sun seemed to shine less brightly. Suddenly, a woman approached the bench and came to sit next to me.

“Good afternoon,” she said with a soft voice. I nodded at her, but said nothing. “A beautiful day, isn't it?” I nodded again, but kept watching the children. I was in no mood to chat. “That feeling, like spring is in the air, I love it. As if life is in every rock, every ray of light, and even in the air itself.”

“Yeah, it's great.” I muttered. “Life's just fucking great.” I looked at her angrily.

“Is it not, then? I guess you're someone that hates everything around her, and takes it down with her.” the woman said, with a dark edge in her voice.

“What do you know about me? Nothing, so keep your thoughts to yourself.” I snapped. The woman looked at me, with her pale blue eyes. Suddenly I shuddered, because something in her face seemed strangely wise, as if she knew more than was good for her. The woman smiled, and said:

“I know life, dear Mandy. I can read life out of the street, or a house or your shoes. Everything in the world tells a story, and I just listen carefully.”