Milk. That's how this tale begins: With a nearly consuming thirst for milk. Mary had found herself in this desirous state early one evening. But, to her dismay, the ice box was empty. She pulled on the nearest, and easiest, piece of clothing she could find - the gauzy white summer frock usually reserved for picnics and other such informal outings - and swept out the door. She was going to town. The evening air was cool against her shoulders. Mary realized she had forgotten her shawl and her shoes. But her craving was so fierce she kept going. She ran through the meadow that separated her cottage from the road. Then she ran the three miles of road that lead into town. The meadow grass had felt soft as a cushion beneath her feet, but the road was dusty with gravelly pebbles that poked and pierced her flesh. Nearly forty-five minutes later Mary was entering town. She half-hobbled, half-pranced to the general store. She greedily captured a bottle of mil from the ice bath and lustily guzzled nearly half of it right there. Her thirst sated, she tried to compose herself by tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear and wiping away the trails of milk that had escaped down her chin. She reached into her coin purse, retrieved its contents and politely paid the proprietor. As she glanced around the shop she noticed a gentleman observing her from the counter. his gaze was intense and curious and steady. Mary offered him a coquettish smile and turned to leave. As she stepped back onto the rough road she recoiled in pain. Her feet had become bloodied and bruised from the frantic journey into town. However was she going to make it back home before dark? She crossed the road gingerly and sat down on a bench hoping that some kind soul might pass by, and, taking pity on her, offer her a ride home.
**UNFINISHED**
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