Everwood and co. are copyright to the WB. no profit is intended or made.


Bright kicked a stone.  Plop.

He kicked another one.  Plop.

The swimming hole was dark and quiet, and cold.  He'd come to maybe find something with meaning.  Something that wasn't a bright, happy baseball stadium, something that wasn't so bright he could barely remember already.

Already, he regretted falling asleep on the drive home.  What kind of moron falls asleep on a three hour drive?

Three hours less he can't remember of Colin's life.

Maybe that's what Colin had felt like, this whole last year.  That itch, that maybe he could remember a little more, that he could catch another moment - if he just thought hard enough.  

Bright had a headache.  He kicked another stone.

Plop, into the water.

He wondered what Colin's last memory was, before he went under the anesthetic.  he'd asked his dad, what Colin had felt, what went into the procedure. Amy had swore at him, in front of both their parents, and left the room. But Bright wanted to *know*.

"They shaved his head, you saw," his dad had told him, gently, "and then he would have sat down on the bed, and stretched out."  He had tugged on his tie.  "And they would have put the mask over his face," and he'd demonstrated, because Bright was adament, he wanted to know each and every detail, "and then, they would have told him to count back from ten."

"From ten?" Bright had asked.

"To make sure he was fully under, before.  Before beginning."

Plop. Plop. Plop.

The swimming hole was dark and still quiet.  It was close to freezing, even in June, or maybe it was just that he'd forgotten to bring a jacket with him.  Bright shivered in the dark.

It was dark and peaceful and tranquil out here, but he was also completely alone, and unable to see anything past the swathe of light his car headlights made.  Beyond that was utter darkness, was the unknown.

Colin had been in the unknown all year, Bright knew.  He kicked a rock.  Colin had remembered bits and pieces of his life, but never any more than a weak flashlight beam, a jigsaw.

Bright got back in the car, finally. He'd been outside less than ten minutes, probably, but it was pointless.  Might as well go home.  He'd slept for three hours, on the drive back from the stadium, and he couldn't quite remember what Colin said, right when they entered.  And he couldn't remember which special was twenty seven cents more.

Bright drove home.  He didn't know a thing.