She was sick of show-and-tells about dreamcatchers where most girls in the back would snicker at her. Yet someone needed her for her warmth.
He kept climbing as I yelled “no!” Now, in place of the tree, the roses my parents planted in memory, where I prick my finger and say “no.”
Hospital hallway prayers unanswered, she lost her mom and her faith in the same last breath.
The river surges, gulps down the sinking ferry. Ann’s students claw at her. She drowns in their terror before being swallowed by the sea.
The cigarette burn scars on his arm screamed “I hate you, Dad!” The tears on his cheeks as he touched the casket offered a rebuttal.
My daughter burrowed under the covers to retrieve her yellow koala, all sleepy magnanimity. “Banana said you get to hold him first today.”