Heaven and Nevaeh - Χεαβεν και ΝεβαεχEdit
Twins, the idea still seemed strange. A woman sat in the blue courtyard, reading a baby-name book. She skimmed down the list of names-in-other-languages, looking for a name that would jump out at her. Then a pair caught her eye: Heaven ή Nevaeh. Curiously she flipped to the page at the beginning on the names-in-other-languages section, where several alphabets were listed. She looked at the English alphabet and slowly translated the names into her own language: Χεαβεν και Νεβαεχ. Intrigued, she went back to the page and read on: Heaven είναι η αγγλική λέξη για τον Ουρανό και Nevaeh είναι Heaven προς τα πίσω. Συχνά χρησιμοποιούνται ως ονόματα για τα δίδυμα αδελφές. (Heaven is the English word for Heaven and Nevaeh is Heaven backwards. Often used as names for twin sisters.)
“Heaven και Nevaeh. Χεαβεν και Νεβαεχ,” she said out loud. As she spoke, she felt a grin spread across her face. What sweet-sounding names! They didn’t sound all matchy, and each name featured different sounds. But they had a contention. The connection wasn’t too blatant, but it wasn’t so deeply hidden that it didn’t matter. And she had never heard of the names before, not around here. There wouldn’t be any other girls named Heaven or Nevaeh. They would be unique. And most importantly, the names plain sounded good to her ears. She reached for the quill and added them to the list of possible names: Χεαβεν Παπακωνσταντίνου και Νεβαεχ Παπακωνσταντίνου
Notes: ή is Greek for or, and και is Greek for and.
The day was wrapped in thick mist. The building on the other side of the yard was like a silhouette. Two girls sat high in the branches of a tree on the far side of the yard. Both wore worn hand-me-down jackets, warding off the damp cold. Neither girl looked much older than 6.
Emmy rubbed at her cold nose with the sleeve of her green jacket. Despite the cold, her blue-grey eyes shone happily. She pushed a lock of her blond hair behind her ear.
Alexandria sat, her arm wrapped around one branch, her bare feet resting on the same branch she sat on. She wore a pair of grey sweatpants and a purple jacket and her brown hair fell loose about her face. Her big brown eyes sparkled with laughter and she shook (in turn bouncing the branch slightly), giggling silently at something Emmy said.
She leaned forward and made a quick, confusing gesture. But Emmy understood it. Emmy spoke, saying something back to Alexandria with a grin, although it was to quite to make out what.
August. One of those weird summer nights. Through the window he could see the sky was still light, but the sun had set and the street lights had turned on. Dadda hasn't come home yet. Mam was in her room, reading. There had been a snack in the later afternoon, and then supper never came.
Osian opened his window. He almost hoped it would make a sound — a loud sound — but it just opened, reveling a ribbon of dust. He swung his legs over the sill, then looked back. His coat, which hung on his door, looked so far away. So Osian left it.
The widow's screen was propped against the house, where it had been for years. Under the metal hooks were rusty patches that ran down, like tears. Underfoot, the yellowed blades of grass poked through the green ones.
The sidewalk was cool, but not cold.
Valerie's bed was in the corner of the room. And she was in the corner of the bed, was wrapped in her quilt. It was hard to say if the sound was screaming or crying. Her fevered body ached, the stomach pain and nausea was overwhelming. Her skin shown with sweat, and athought it was a bit hard to tell, was crying too. Sleep was a lifetime away. Her words were intelligible, but it almost sounded like she was singing to herself, then it dissolved into sobs, which then escalated into shrieks.