June 4th, 1857 The sky is crying. So am I. The rain drowns the small blue flower in my hands. I let the petals wash away, one by one. I stare at the brown heap in front of me, praying that my father will jump out from the dirt and hold me safe. He ain’t even...
I am the beast, and he is my boy. A young, cruel boy with a smashed-glass smile. We are hunting tonight, because he is hungry. There is a strip of asphalt outside the town; it is our hunting ground, straight as an arrow and black as night. We idle beneath the only...
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