I came home on that day, in 1929, from a luncheon at the home of an acquaintance.  It seemed like a normal day.  Sure, Tom had seemed worried the past few days.  He had invested heavily in something called the stock market and had been buying on what he called "credit."  I think I remember him saying something about that stock market thing going down quickly.  I didn't pay any attention to any of those financial worries.  We had been doing so well for so long.  Besides, Tom knew what he was doing.

Apparently that rat bastard knew exactly what he was doing when he shot himself that day.  I walked into our bedroom without even noticing the red stain on the scarlet rug.  It wasn't until I tripped over his mistress' hand that I looked behind the bed and saw their bodies on the floor.  He had the decency to murder his mistress along with himself, but had forgotten the life of poverty that he had left to little Pammy and me.  He had left us nothing.  Nothing.  The word had always seemed unreal to me.  The concept was so completely foreign to me that I truly didn't believe it existed.  The monster of nothingness from the deep seas of my nightmares overwhelmed me at that moment like a shock wave.  Four years later we are living a life of poverty.  Pammy is starving away, and I find myself desperately searching for every drop of alcohol I can get my hands on.  All the while I can't help wondering, "Would Jay have been so careless?"

- Clare