Bored with his accumulations, he stood and stared at the statue of the girl satisfying two satyrs. How long had he had it? He counted the years as he ...tared into the girl’s sad, lonely eyes. She blinked slowly. Once she had been his wife. Now she was little more than a museum piece, frozen in time under a man-made, synthetic marble veneer, still and unmoving. He turned and stared up at his ode to pulp fantasy novels; a girl trapped on a spider’s web awaiting her demise. The girl, still. There was further occasion to celebrate the end of the first week: I got my first letter from Kayla in the mail. It was a response to one of the first letters I had sent to her, so she was answering questions I had a little trouble recalling. Still, she wrote, and it made me very happy. I redoubled my efforts to write to her, knowing full well that once classes began, my ability to consistently write to her would be compromised. I filled my letters with gossip from campus, news about tryouts. More

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