It was nothing more than memories, lingering softly at the edges of my mind, entwined in the filigree of my senses. I closed my eyes, letting them wash over me; recollections of a trespasser who stole my heart and gave it back in tatters.
I welcomed the pain, relished the familiar clench in my stomach. It was good to be reminded that I could still feel.
The harsh calls of the seagulls pulled me from my reverie. The chill seeped into my bones as I sat in the sand. My fingers were numb and the cold tracks of tears marked my cheeks. I swiped the back of my hand across them, erasing the evidence, if not the reality, that some wounds never heal.
- from Midnight Train (working title)
What was left of the kitchen was on fire, the flames consuming the lacy curtains at the small window and the crocheted covering that clung to the shattered remains of our table. The explosion came from the stove, triggered by my mother opening the oven door to put the bread in to heat up for breakfast, and boosted by the gas line. There was nothing left of her. I was grabbed, I couldn’t see my attackers. I struggled, but I couldn’t escape. They pulled me out of the rubble, tearing me from my father’s side as he drew his last breath...
-from Midnight Train (working title)
