The Beach House_(3)
The Beach House It had been one hell of a storm the previous night, with trees downed, both behind the house and along the lake front beach that was the place’s only saving grace. Mary Ellen surveyed the damage, and her already crappy mood headed for the dark end of the spectrum even more than it had been when she woke up. “Bastard! Fucking son-of-a-bitch!”, she mumbled to anyone that cared to listen. Except there was no one. Hadn’t been for months, and it didn’t look like that situation was about to change in a rush. Mary Ellen wanted to find a comfortable spot, sit down, cry, and pray the some Divine entity would just snuff out her miserable existence! At 26 years old, Mary Ellen Glasser had accepted that anything and everything she touched …