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The house was old and rundown. It was a shotgun shack, standing behind a thin green hedge. The door to the house was ajar. The wind blew softly and rain shimmered in the moonlight - an eerie, almost mystical light.

My eyes glanced around the shack. This place was like I had imagined it, no older than one or two years. There were beer cans, skinned rabbits and deer, and all these things seemed ordinary and ordinary in this place.

The officer came in and I followed him. He was tall and broad shouldered, but had a soft face. He banged the door...

...The door was locked and the officer shoved it open with his right shoulder. It took both of us to get the door to move. A small gust of wind kicked it open and the door swung on its hinges.

The wind that had blown into the shack was now gone and the light was dim, but enough to see. It was damp, but not wet. Very stale. I remember thinking to myself, "This place is creepy."

The officer walked into the first room and turned on the flashlight attached to his holster. He would walk into one room and shine the light on to its corners, then I would walk in and look around the room. This was routine, and as we walked through, it got quicker.

Room after room we found nothing but beer cans and animal bones, but then we got to the back room. I looked at the officer, he looked at me, then he opened the door. He turned on the flashlight and shined the light onto the corners of the room. Then he walked into the room with me, looking around. I looked around the room, which was a mirror image of the other back room, except there was a bed on the right side of the room.

In the middle of the room were two bodies. Or body, I should say. I wondered what happened to the other one. It was an older man with a wrinkly tan face and long white, greasy hair. He wore a mechanic's jumpsuit. I remembered the suits he was wearing as a kid and was disgusted, but that was not in the moment.

The man was on the floor. An older woman with a blue face was sitting on the bed and stared at the old man with her arms dangling off the side and her left leg hanging off the bed. She had the same dark hair that the old man did. I looked at the skin on her face. It was not a natural blue. The officer and I looked at each other. I asked the officer what it was. He looked at it and said that it was denim.

But this was not denim. It was faint, but there were words and symbols imprinted on it. Only the old woman was wearing denim. She looked at her hands and touched the denim on her face. Her fingers traced the lines and the words.

"Oh my God," she said softly. "This is our skin."

The officer shined the flashlight at her and said, "Ma'am, what do you mean?"

She answered but I cannot remember the words. She moved her hands slowly, but not as if she were sleepy. Her fingers traced the lines slowly. The words. I looked at the officer and he looked at me again.

"I'm trying to remember the words. It was... 'Honor ', Dear , ,,, Love. It was on my face."

The officer said slowly, "You're not wearing denim?"

She nodded as she tugged at the fabric at the top of her dress. On her left breast, she had a round, faded flower. It glowed in the dim light and swayed slightly.

"That is a tattoo. It is a flower. The one you two call the Four Dandelion. 'Honor.' The old man had one, too."

He turned to me and he said, "You have these tattoos?"

I nodded and I said, "Yeah. I grew up with my cousin, we were both children of the Four Dandelion, but I do not remember my old man. I believe that's how it happened."

The officer looked at me and said, "When do you remember you first remember them?"

I shrugged and said, "When I was older. I think the woman I was with who was killed a few years back was a Dandelion kid. But who is she?"

She stood up slowly and said, "David, I'm Linda."

She walked across the room and sat next to the bed. She was half removed from the bed, but she was slumping over slightly. I looked at the body slumped on the floor.

"And who was he?" I asked, looking at her face.

She shook her head and said, "I do not know. We have no names. No ages. Only spaces. We do not know the names, only spaces."

I looked back into the room, then closed the door gently. I looked back out the door and put my hand on it.