It was an eye that saw her grandmother's death, strung by an electrical cord from the rafters. She was nine at the time and it was ten years later. She stared into the April ocean, rocks in her pockets and determination anchored to her will. In all these years she had learned only one thing; her and her grandmother's fate were tied. She would never be the child-prodigy again, never run a bow across the violin strings again at all. She had failed them. She had failed at life. She put a fist around the cold, jagged stone and inhaled deeply and without thought. Wind cut her eyes, stopped her and breath, and caused her head to turn from the inevitable waves. The cold sucked an unemotional tear from her dry and intentional eyes. No feeling, no regret, no sense of anything but the pain of knowing that the only one who ever loved her would leave her in a tangle all her own, weighed down deeper so that nobody would ever find her the way she found her grandmother.
photograph (actually a drawing!) by an angelicum high school student (found through the school's website)