The butcher’s son stood behind the wooden block and bit his nails. A thin stream of sweat trickled down his forehead. Thud! His father heaved an unconscious goat on to… Read more »
“Maybe this writers’ residency is coming at a good time.” I wiped my tears. “I’ll figure this out when I’m back, promise.” I pointed at the cardboard boxes against Mama’s wall. …. Read more »
“Wait, I have it! These cases, they’re connected!” I shouted with caffeine-induced confidence. My partner, Gomez raised an eyebrow, too tired to ask. It was midnight and we were still… Read more »
There’s an anger, a restlessness about you. You’re carrying scars from your childhood, perhaps. I see you in pigtails laying flowers on your mother’s grave on a winter morning. You’re wondering to yourself why Dad is crying and where Mom went. Or did your dad leave you when you were a child? Mom cried every time you asked her when dad would be back and you didn’t know why.