Imagine this: a skinny eight year old dancer, who doesn’t know she is one, discovering her gift by breaking the embrace of gloved hands and twirling–spinning and spinning and spinning–atop the wet grave of her just-buried grandfather.
He woke up smiling and that made her nervous because Randal was not a happy man, not by anyone’s stretch of the imagination.
Everything seems wrong, especially the music, a-ha on the radio singing, “Take On Me.”
In the tree fort, they share secrets and tell their made up stories.
I’ve seen the devil more than a few times. Often he looks just as you imagine, but once in awhile he’ll throw you for one hell of a loop.
In the morning the sky smoldered inky plum, the darkest bruise, and we thought it was over, this world of ours gone up in plumes of missile smoke. This was before the internet or iPhones, when the war we fought was called Cold, and so not knowing what to do we got into the [...]
Everyone else is weighted down by gloom, and while it feels strange to covet their sadness, that’s what I do.
After twenty-two weeks of pregnancy, our friends lose their baby one day, but they are not bitter.
They caught the man who raped our neighbor. Tried him, sent him to jail, but Mother was right. That wasn’t enough.
We took turns stealing, little things at first, then larger items as the day progressed. “I think I can get the cooler,” Clay said.
