This world is so wrong, and we must make it right.

These things do not happen to the dead, she told herself.

His mother once told him a story about how his granddaddy nearly gave her away.

There was always news, Antonio thought, as the announcer’s name started to boom out, and he was glad for that.

Ten words, one tale. Ten tales, a hundred words.

“It’s always the same to begin with,” I said. “I’m on the beach. The sand is hot, the sun is bearing down. It makes the sand look white, like snow.”

It was eerie sometimes, how a room filled with talking people would quiet up when he spoke. I felt like I was that room full of people then.

A true story, based on the written history of Hester N. Harris, the author’s grandmother.

People aren’t as good at dying as you might think.

On the morning of the Naming Day, I am up early.

She looked at me with wonderful blue eyes.

He sat on the bench. Their bench. And watched the birds. And remembered.