“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.”
* Story contains bad language
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.
He sat on the bench. Their bench. And watched the birds. And remembered.
She looked at me with wonderful blue eyes.
The target, the target. I had little to go on.
There is a bleached skeleton that holds no marrow.
Mr. and Mrs. Whitaker next door were targeted the following weekend...
Truda paused at the gate and tried to calm her racing heart.
Not for the first time, the solution came to him in the middle of the night.