The Limelights of a Destined The Limelights of a DestinedCasualty, Alarmed by a LittleCasualty, Alarmed by a Little

GirlGirl

Indoors we left seating vacant around, and the wild children confused cumbersome and clumsy dog, taller than the white table cloth scattered by cake dishes, juice cartons leftovers to step a contoured of party toys on the floor. Coming out of the house to a reigning suburban twilight in ongoing exchanges of farewells. We moved toward the Audi untangling a little crowd. Taking my seat behind the wheel turning the ignition key. By a sweeping eyesight to the places of our earlier arrival. Over the passenger headrest, in contrast petite, the little blond dutch girl sinks deeper in her seat. I cached up my fieldof sight over my shoulder furthering a body twist, and I aligned in the perspective of the rear window the driveway. Spared a glance for our little daughter, no further than an extenuated from playing. While she is high on the arm rest, she left a notion of Alexandre's presence in the blind corner behind me. Idling to a purring engine, I lend an eye over to an unfolded map on Martine lap, as she pinpointed a grid and orientating our

You are My Sunshine

course up north. We backed up from front house windows shining a soft light along Paul's figure, and his girlfriend, Marie-Hlne standing against the open door and wavingus to a halt in the street. In my seat, I uncoiled, and pulled off for an exit of lined fences, driveway gaps to wooden gates in a counter direction for the farm roads to fetch ways U-turn to the thoroughfare short behind.

While an evening dusk veil came down from across the German sky, spontaneous Martine navigating me driving by road pointers. No sooner we entered a village the few houses thinned out in our exit. Until, with a particular agitation, Martine's eyes widened, calling to marvel a medieval church. Across the corner parvis, to the splitting street, taking me curiously to the cloistral stone wall, and in the prolongation, saying, I lived here with my stepfather. She left me to imagine the old gentleman at the mercy of girlish mischiefs growing up to a teenager when he died.

With a hand on the steering wheel, the other across the seat, over the handbrake lever, well locked into the grasp of Martine's hand, driving extenuating little roads at cross grain zigzagging through the dark. Time came to a stand still, arousing a sense at loss in the universe. Relying by an unending trajectory the moment to reach a ray of the easternhighways to Brussels.

In a glitch in time, we crossed the overpass. The road board spelled in French Saint-Trond approaching the village. Like a sudden antagonistic flip to Sint-Truiden, which marked Wallonia was left behind, and we had crossed the language frontier into the Flanders. Populated by a length on the rows of townhouses, crossed the extraordinary birth place of Martine, and a little girl in her first seven-year cycle of life, to subsist at thelost of her father. We emerged from a soft white haze of lights entering a moonless night in our apparent transparent capsule sweeping a beam of lights, without conceding an interior atmosphere of a particular peaceful occupancy.

The distances shortened, engaging changes with the on-ramp to a parallel meeting highway fading in a tunneling misty yellow lights bringing back a visual occupancy inside our glass habitat. Flashing reflective road board with a language of renown for the city of Hasselt. Sporadic to the extreme, as we contoured Flanders' nesting bourgeoisie, domiciling Martine's mother.

As the bright yellow tunneling expressway instinctive running out of steam before The Netherlands, short on the off ramp the bright yellow mist fast fading to an invasive pitchblack night. Waking sweeping headlights hard on the bending silver reflective guardrails leading into a stranding alleyway of wayside overbearing foliage to face in the straight an escarpment arousing a red flash of an upcoming stop sing.

Pulling off sewering left in the straight of a national road the white beam brushing a moist gleaming tarmac. Wayside farmer's occasional induced bridged to evanescent ways into a spreading tract of apparent flat countryside. Upfront the white beam permeated deeper into a stratified space, an Indian ink bleeding off the plateau

You are My Sunshine

dissipating into a bottomless abyss. Silent, the capsule burrowing the immaterial mass, while alone in our corner, not a sight, without the whisper of a breath from the three children annihilated their presence on the rear bench. left to captured Martine in comfort, pondering over the reconciliation of her brother with her mother.

Initiating a preponderant and alert sing, by a girly voice waking up in the rear, saying, [Dutch] I have to make a puddle. Neither Martine consider that first call. Steffy yaps again. Martine glances around in the dark, no sooner returns her regard, hearing out. Attuning to the sporadic little voice resounding in our moving habitat. On the horizon a series of starry lights begun to draw a fine skyline across our way. Martine turns to me, and in an urgent tone of voice said, Stop the car. at the sound of a little girl yap, urged,Stop somewhere! In the foreground of the distant town, a glow rises in the distance, shines upcoming lonely and apparent crawl toward the left road side, shaping into a filling station, like a genie of destiny orchestrating a distinct scene to pay attention.

By sight I sought across the way in the shadow for a side door along the gas station, going on for a fixation peering through the flood of lights for a toilet sign. Growing skeptic, as beneath the bright fluorescent canopy and visibly through the invisible plate-glass storefront, a spacious show room without the shadow of attendance. Heard Steffy's voice, eager at evacuating her bodily needs, [Dutch] But there is a garage open!"

Fooled by appearances to a sleek metallic single car gleaming at spending as a night display, and out of place as we traveled through a deserted universe. Reminded of a Sunday night, to imagining people retrieved behind window blinds and home in family. Inthe back resounded the little alarming voice asking, [Dutch] Isn't there a toilet here?

Martine's voice drummed in urgency saying, [Dutch] No Steffy It's not because lights are burning that the place is open!"

[Dutch] Yes! There are cars..." Steffy insisted.

Shush, Martine said wedging to silence the little girl rattling off words, in a monologue with Alexander.

I threw brisk glances around the structure's blind corner of peering behind into an unrewarding void. Instead, a hedge shadowing thickets from an apparent open farm land. Returning sight into the straight ahead, imagining a universe of people at supper time. The next filling station come up in darkness, and moved on targeting the next.

Abrupt, a dazzling white aura light in a glitch of darkness, which in time the blinding glowspreads ecliptic wider. Parts in the middle and grows to define a pair of upcoming headlights, until a swift shadow moves by. An eye glances at the rear view mirror, watching the rare evanescent pair of red glowing dots disappear into the darkness. Upfront, approached the restored paralyzed publicity panel high up against shadowy rooftops, marking the town's gateway.

You are My Sunshine

In a distant medley, and perspective rows of brick townhouses embracing a white misty light, bright tricolored traffic lights grew closer. There, a translucent colored sing, up for consideration to a sudden maneuver. Across the intersection, we swerved right into the driveway, and off side along the filling station. The interior apparent shallow dark footwell, shadows Martine crossed legged, her figure waxed, twisted in her seat, turned towards the middle, by her preoccupation with Steffy. The little girl who had surrendered to a distinct anxious silence. Pulling up by the recessed brick wall, projecting a poorly lit corner, which affixed by a shadowy door an iconic lady and man.

[Dutch] She's awake!" Steffy declared given sight by the filtering light through the backwindow, and in a questioning raised voice said, [Dutch] Now, we can talk!"

Martine stepped out of the car, fetched Steffy in the rear, and together their shadow disappeared from the headlights into the dark corner. Return no sooner and at the last thud of closing doors, the engine revving up. The brick corner wall moved forward, the building rotated, and came to face the driveway exit into the street.

Over the years gradually the empiric scene faded away, while I remained open minded curious to that night. Instead, revealed an augury stage setting in town to wrap up our trajectory. Upcoming accelerating to a series of lampposts, like sentinels witness their proper outfit. The spreading pools of light, wake against mysterious distant neon lights dancing to blind walls of storefronts flooding fluorescent lights onto the pavement. At a mutual pace of the elusive and a clarity filtering through the windows maintaining an ambient interior visibility. The soft warning axial force, in a first degree, didn't permeate to mind. In my line of sight, the rear view mirror, reflected our little daughter, without a sing that she was the target of the universal formula for a sequence of alerts, to bring to notice a prevalent danger. Instead, in the axis the unrelenting deserted road over her head folded up in a disappearing perspective into the distance.

By an intangible tease, Sibylle's transcending volition nurtures the unconscious open andreceptive souls. By a hunch from where we left earlier, most susceptible, the child in Steffy mounted an urge to rid a subtle fear. She yaps cooling her fright across the centralarmrest. Passes by Sibylle raised in her baby seat. Steffy pours a premonitory turbulence onto Alexander. Silent like a big brother in his corner on the rear seating. Bearing out that girlish confusing sensibility, from part-taking in her conversation.

Upfront the evanescent street caught in a mirage the Leopoldburg chaotic vista of architectures, which pressed the pitch black universe to rest up cushioned in the pointed pitched rooftops. A leading destined {X} axis that guided us through the one way street. Upgraded to a life threatening second dimension warning, we moved through a U-turn loop for the town exiting {Y} axis. The sings we ignored all along the way since leaving

You are My Sunshine

the house of Martine's brother. Least, like a spear from the sky, the lightning {Z} axis and potential fatal in a trajectory of colliding axes. Time tells that in the aftermath, by logic deductions, we ought to have paid closer attention to Sibylle. To have sight on her body going in rift, sighting her canned up emotional stress at evading playing in the vicinity of the shaggy massive dog. Going back in mind to the place, I find out the course through a horseshoe and town lit streets, where she ought to have been struck, vomited, and whatever little she had in her stomach inhaled, and gradually she ceased breathing.