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Borderland Anna, by chance, noticed that snow was lightly falling ourside. Again? Or maybe had it been snowing the whole time, and she had not noticed. It could have been winter forever. Yet she seemed to remember a time when the grass outside had been green. So there must have been a summer. But how long had it been winter? She remember watching the winters pass...nineteen? Twenty? Two-hundred? She had lost count. Maybe it had all been one long winter after all. She stopped by the window. It was dusk. She saw a face in the reflection of the window; a face whose eyes were lined at the edges, whose hair was turning gray. Unkempt brown strands cascaded freely over white shoulders. The woman must have been beautiful once, before the wildness took over her features. Now the skin of the face was sagging, and the lips were thin and pressed. Who was staring in at her with wide yeys? When had she gotten so old? Where had she been all this time? She tried to remember, but the snow distracted her. It fell through the face in the window, and she stared out into the whirlwind. If she could feel the snow, she was certain it coulse cleanse her. Take her away from this place...if only she knew where she was. Dirt and dust clung to the corners of the panes of glass. She put her hand up to one of the panes and felt its frostines under her own cool touch. She concentrated on making herself as small as possible, so she could melt through the crack in the glass. She was going to slide like melted butter through the crack, and the wind was going to carry her up into the snow. She had dreamt of flying last time she had slept. She now remembered the breath of the air beneath her. She would slip out the window and be blown away into the dark. She no longer looked at the face in the glass; instead, she looked out at the snow and started to make her hand and arm melt through the glass. Suddenly, she looked down, startled to see her white hand collecting a pool of warm, red liquid. What had she been thinking? She had been off in a day dream again, and she had broken the pane of glass in the window. How had she done that? Her hand was bleeding red, and the crystal white flakes were becoming contaminated. She quickly pulled her hand back into the room. She had no glass stuck in her hand, but she felt the sharp pain of the cut for the first time. Ashamed, she tried to hide the crimson stain in the dirty white skirts of her dress, but the red snuck out onto the material and spread over the cotton. She stared down, helpless. "Oh, Anna. Broke the window again, have you?" Started, Anna looked up to see a heavy, starched-looking woman. She had a strident and sterile appearance. Her hair was tightly coiled under her cap, pulling on the corners of her eyes and emphasizing the lines in her face. "I don't know how. I drifted again. I don't know..." she whimpered. "Let's go get that bandaged up for you, darling." The meaty woman loudly interrupted Anna's soft words, taking her firmly by the arm. "Well, come on." Anna allowed the strong woman in the starched skirt to lead her down the hall. But where was she? The air was heavy with human odor and antiseptic, and the light was dim and dirty. Her bare feet padded on the grimy wooden floorboards. She heard sobs and screams begind the closed doors in the hall. Now she remembered. She was in the asylum, of course. But how long had she been here? How many winters? Always? The strong nurse led her into another room, where bright light suddenly hurt her eyes. Big hands (cont'd on page 39) page 39

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