A young girl whose magic may be the last chance her world has at revival is mercilessly preyed upon by choice.
She watches me with keen eyes hollow with wistfulness. I try to speak to her when I find the courage, but she never answers. I think she is mute. Her silence intimidates me . . .
A young girl chooses between toiling over straggling plants or ancient texts in the hopes of reviving her dying world.
I am a year old. My first road trip from Virginia to Florida is paved with oranges, cigarettes, and cops. Episode one in Stoney River.
A blind boy contemplates the arrival of his newborn sibling without favor based off the whispered experiences of a school bully.
A gentleman but not a gentleman was what Edward always was, given the 'no smoking' signs pasted to the ghastly lavender walls.
She is that which never wavers, silent in the face of bloodshed, smiling in the face of the storm. She is loyalty; forever inspiring.
"Is it true you do not spank me because I am blind?"
Father said nothing. Only his breathing sounded as Miles' heart sank. It was true, after all. It was not love; it was because he was blind. Disabled. Different.
Virgin vaguely recalled exchanging a rake for his fishing pole.
Pa folded his arms as Virgin's shoulders slumped.
He was ten years old and already running from the blaze on the horizon where his parents and siblings, servants and friends burned in the flames.
The place smelled of the smell of sadness; salt mixed with ashes and dead rose petals. A cloak of tragedy settled over all those who entered to walk the paths between the burial plots.
They hold me prisoner deep within the earth. It is a world of death and hate.
I miss the sun. Here in these caverns there is only darkness. Even my thoughts are not my own.