Kolandra had heard many stories about death before. It was all around. Every night, her mother would rock her baby brother to sleep in a corner of their wooden house singing a dark lullaby about the passing of her sister and father. How those who aren’t here with us physically are never truly gone. Her mother’s voice, deep as a cello, would be accented by the flute-like whistling of the wind passing through cracks in the birch walls her great-grandmother constructed years before.
Read MoreThe first fire storm on the East coast landed at 5:55 pm. Sia and her younger sister Paulie sat cross-legged on the cold concrete floor of their makeshift living room, huddled around the glow of the glitching television screen. The youngest sister, Gigi, adjusted the machine’s antenna.
Read MoreLucy awoke with the lukewarm surf of the Atlantic tickling her toes for the third night in a row. She didn't quite remember where she fell asleep, but she was certain it wasn’t where she woke up.
Read MoreI remember the smell of artificial sugar and sweat. I remember the sound of our sneakers slipping along linoleum tile like the high pitched screams of little ghosts. I remember squeezing the wooden handle of my ice cream spatula and searching for my reflection in its silver blade.
Read More
