​© KMMcKenzie | ®Ebonscape
 
 My second black cat encounter was on the way home.
The mechanized meow was soft in the night.

The cat disappeared into the park that terminated into the dense woods behind the houses.

The first encounter had been the night my mother died. The pain of that night was back. I’d been hoping to sever my dependence on medication, but as my heart began to palpitate, I knew I’d have to take a couple pills tonight.

The meows and long howls of the black cat haunted my sleep.

Nothing impressive here. Just all the romantic corniness that dominates the mind of the teenage girl.  When I first started writing this story, I was sixteen. It was called, I kid you not (the pages don't lie): Lost in Love. Some things will be familiar. Others will be different. Devon was always Devon, for example. It was originally written in first person, in an epistolary style. The basics of the story was the same.  Names are mostly the same.
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Mind you this isn't all of it, just the first handwritten 60-something pages. Should be mostly legible.