"Connor!" a woman's voice called, angrily, "Murphy! Marie! You've been out 'dere all damn day, come back inside, supper's ready!"

The trio of youths paid her no mind. The playground was their solace, and luckily for them it was just across the street from their apartments. A short, pudgy girl, with straight red hair was being pushed by two boys elder than her. They took turns at telling jokes and antidotes to get her to giggle. It was all they could do for the girl they knew, whose Father was leaving very soon.

As Murphy took his turn pushing her, and elder man made his way across the playground. Both boys stood still - silent. It was Marie's Father. She noticed him seconds after the boys had. As the man neared Marie, he knelt down and hugged her. The youthful girl embraced her Father, as he peered up at the boys before him.

"Lass . . ." the man started, but his voice failed him.

"Da? What is it? Murphy and Connor were pushing me on the swing, and being funny. I'm sorry I didn't listen to their Ma, I'll be good, Da - I promise,"

It was no use. He looked upon his only daughter with lamentful eyes: he loathed himself for having to leave. Suddenly, a tearful grin came to his face as he thought of her innocence. She thought he was mad at her for staying out with Connor and Murphy. He laid one hand on her shoulder, whilst the other dug into his coat pocket for something. Within seconds he pulled out a Celtic Cross Rosary. Marie reached for it tentatively; it was just like Connor's and Murphy's - she grinned wildly at that thought.

"Marie - boys, your Da and me had these made specifically for your confirmation. You'll never find any others like it anywhere else. So, wear it, lass, and think of me when I'm gone,"

"Da, where are you going?" she asked, growing sad.

"Far away, my dearest daughter," he hugged her once more, "far away."

The man stood on shaky legs, and walked away. He dared not turn back, he would not let his daughter, or the boys whom he deemed as sons see the tears streaming down his sunken face. Connor and Murphy turned to each other, and then rested a hand on each of her shoulders. They had never heard her cry, even when she was baby, she was the quietest little thing; even when she hurt herself - she never cried.

"He's going where your Da went, isn't he?" her voice was softer than it usually was.

"Yes, . . ." Connor stated, sorrowfully.

"He is," Murphy finished.

Murphy began to push Marie on the swing again, and again the brothers alternated. But, there were no jokes this time. Only dull silence. The grey sky opened forth and began to rain gently. They continued to push her. Marie hung her head down, and realized that they were all she had left.

Eight Years Later . . .

Marie punched Murphy in the face with her right hand. He stumbled backward a bit, then quickly regained his balance. She turned to Connor - he knew he was next. She hit Connor in turn with her left; he mirrored his brother. They held their heads down and gazed at her scuffed boots. They were almost astounded that she used what they had taught her.

"You're leaving me - just like everyone else!" she screamed, with enraged fervour. "Just like Da - just like Ma!"

Murphy winced at the memory of Mrs. Bailey's death three years ago. Grimacing, Connor reached for Marie. She slapped his hand away, causing her to loose her footing; she sank to her knees. This was the first time they had ever heard her weep openly. The tear drops that fell freely from her dark green orbs sounded like as loud as the hammering of nails to her. But, she knew that they could not hear them.

"You're going to live with your Aunt, she'll look after ye," Murphy offered.

He hoped in vain that this would give her some comfort. He was sorely disappointed when she scoffed and let out a sorrowful sob. They loathed doing this to her, but they were eighteen years old, and they heard the sea calling to them.

"I hate you both,"

Connor kneeled down on his knees in front of her. He embraced her in his arms, and he half expected her to pull away and give him another good left hook. To his surprised she burrowed further into his chest, feeling frigid tears drench his shirt. Murphy followed his brother, like he always did, and embraced her as well. Marie clutched both of their shirts, in attempt to hold onto them as long as possible. As long as she could touch them, they could not leave her.

"You'll never come back," she sniffled.

"Yes, . . ." Murphy began.
"We will," Connor concluded.

Marie shook her head violently. The brothers held on tighter so she would not run away. Murphy began to caress her now darkened red hair. He smiled to remember that when she younger, it had been a bright, blinding red. Now her hair was long, and had never beheld the image of scissors. He found himself arguing with his conscience not to leave.

They had always been friends. From the first time that her parents had brought her home from the hospital, Murphy and Connor had been drawn to the sleeping babe. They lived next door to one another, and found themselves over at the Bailey's a lot: having dinner and what not. They vaguely remembered when their Father's would smoke cigars and watch sports on t.v., while their Mother's conversed over beer about when they were young girls.

When Mrs. Bailey had let each of the boys hold the baby redheaded girl, they knew that they would be together always. But, always is not forever, and Connor and Murphy hated this fact. Connor smiled to recall when they were eight years old, and Marie two; she had all ready said her first words, Da. But, her next word was Con. He always took pride in knowing that he was her second word. In short, he adored the little, chubby girl with eyes as green as the seas during a storm.

The twelve year old girl pushed the boys away and peered into each of their countenances. She read all that she needed to. She realized that she was being extremely selfish: they did not wish to go - they did not wish to hurt her. But, they were, and had succeded in doing both.

Marie blindly stood up and peered down at Connor and Murphy. She gave a half-grin and winked at them. Tilting her chin upward, to show defiance, and strength - she walked toward the swings. She calmly sat down, holding tightly to the chains that held her. She did not move - she was battling with sorrow. Murphy and Connor followed her, with their own silent, lamentful remorse. They began to push her, this time together . . .