A/N: Hey! Go check out @Lord_Assassin_Writer's book of writing prompts! It's where I got the idea for this story. ^_^

It's been a year since they - my grandparents - went missing.

It was the earlier summer: hot, dry, and horrifying. They lived in the Texan countryside, within their small house by a lake.

I spent many holidays there, running through their massive front yard and dreaming of jumping into the lake without fear of the alligators. I loved playing chicken foot and bridge on their hardwood tables and sleeping on the raised hospital bed.

As I got older, my family stopped going. My parents got divorced, my dog died, and I moved halfway across the country. I had so much stress, I couldn't even think to visit.

Five years ago, during my freshman year of college, my father reached out to me and offered to fly us both out to see them. He proposed a new tradition the two of us share. My mother was more than miffed, but I accepted.

It was paradise. We stayed the entire month, and memories of why I treasured the place flooded back. It was a breath of fresh air and the perfect way to spend my summer break.

My father and I went every July, bringing Fireworks for the Fourth of July and presents for my grandfather's birthday. Last year, we even brought my now-fiancé. It was wonderful.

Until it wasn't.

On our last day, the day we expected to leave, my grandparents vanished. They just weren't anywhere. My father called for help and I cried into my fiancé's shoulder.

We still flew back that day after answering the cop's questions. Our flight was late enough that we didn't miss it. They told us they would search the woods and nearby town for my grandparents but warned us it might be too late. No one lived anywhere for miles, and the ten-foot alligator gliding through the mossy lake was far too likely a suspect.

It's been a year. No luck.

My father and I have stopped crying and accepted our grief. We mourn and celebrate their lives, staying strong for those going through similar losses and for each other. We now own my grandparent's house. It's not the same.

My dream job was always a doctor, to help and to heal. Now, I have another motivation: to prevent death. I don't want anyone to lose their family. It's inevitable, but I can delay it, even if it's just for a moment.

I read and I study and I practice. My fiancé's favorite joke is that the library is my official place of residence. I allow the jokes, and not just because they're funny. My grandmother would make similar jokes about my grandfather and the lake. He would sit on the dock and stare at the lake for hours. The jokes remind me of this. My fiancé knows. Soon, we will hold hands and laugh and love the way my grandparents did. That's all I can ask for.

That was the only thought running through my mind as I stared at my "missing" grandparents sitting on my couch. They were smiling and holding hands.

Smiling and bleeding and holding hands and dead.