Dawn has always been fascinated by bees. Stifling in the cotton taffeta of her dress, she often watched them from the living room window as they swarmed in clusters gathered around her mother's daisies, the radiance of the Southern sun brightening the pale of her skin. an angry shade of red. She stood, watching, for most of the day as her family navigated their basic daily activities, her little diamond eyes wide and receptive to the world bustling about outside the glass. It was a Thursday, her grandmother pulled the Torino GT into the driveway, her hand draped lazily out the window, tinkling the steel with pastel studs. Despite the age gap, her grandmother still seemed to reflect a near-perfect representation of Dawn's own mother, dressed in clothes seemingly taken straight from the contents of her daughter's closet. Dawn's grandfather lay buried deep in the ground, having done so for two years before he was born. Dawn backed away from the window, a feeling of stunned excitement washing over her as she watched the car roll down their gravel driveway. She loved her grandmother, her grandmother brought her gifts and treats and sometimes her little dog, an enthusiastic rat terrier whose main goal in life was to shower every human being close to her with little touches of affection. She eagerly made her way to the door and began tapping her feet as she reached her destination, her little shoes clicking against the wood. It was his chosen way of getting his mother's attention, to stomp. “Yes, Dawn. Her mother came out of their dining room, a short, curvy woman with thick glasses, and ran a hand through Dawn's blonde locks, stopping to adjust a perfectly placed lace bow in her middle. . middle of paper......now honey, I made your grandfather look like he was having a heart attack. You’re too messy,” her grandmother lights her cigarette. "Push him back under, we'll find a solution inside." It's hot as hell in here, and my damn makeup is melting. And stop crying. » The two bend over, finishing the task with one last jam under the porch, sliding him inside. “Oh,” her grandmother sighs as they stand up. “Don’t be so disappointed, my little black widow. He was a miserable drunk at best. She patted her daughter on the shoulder. His mother wiped her eyes, smearing more makeup on her cheek, looking fragile, her brown eyes defeated as she took in the depressed state of her late husband. "Let's go play with Dawn." His grandmother gave him a sharp, skinny elbow in the side. “I bought her dresses. A pretty little yellow, with white borders. Maybe I'll put some makeup on her.”