shelly raze there are no pictures of you in my high_school yearbooks. you came in just as i was leaving. your brother killed you after trying to summon satan in the family shed. you were fifteen. two years younger than i was then. all i ever knew of you was in the music you inspired. and that's been gone for half as long as i've been alive. what's left is a five-second fragment. a girl who must have loved you once wails, "why are you so quiet?" over a copse of drums and clean electric guitar. i study your sister's face in a greyscale still shot. try to conjure something i know won't come. she isn't you. you're not here. you aren't anywhere. 260909 what's it to you? who go blather from