Pile into Liz's minivan snow high, white, so cold we are colder still. Justin smokes, I smoke, we all smoke but Liz. Liz is driving. At the entrance, blue lights repeating on snow, the police turn us away. We go back, smoking still, and walk. Walk by snow balancing atop a bush, each branch holds snow cold, so cold it glitters, catching all the light in the bitter sky. Just to lie down on this branch, to be that cold forever; I want this. Inside now, peeling off coats, scarves, snow, gloves, sweaters, I see. I see Rose folding into Ziadee's arms. The motion of her crying shakes them both. I see last night: Tommy turning in slow motion, Tan rushing forward, Ross running out to the wood. Anxious to meet the library floor, the blood, the blood leaves Galen. I see now each face a story writing history into itself, surrounding me, not speaking, looking. Liz holds me; someone begins to speak. I can't hear beyond this: no one covered Galen's body, six hours later, snow and blood. The screams cannot leave the library walls, trapped between cement and dry wall.