My mother never packed lunches for me to take to school when I was growing up. I’d sit and stare down at my knees while the other children ate their sandwiches, my stomach empty and rumbling. As soon as I’d get home in the afternoon, I filled my belly with...
“What was it for?” I said. “What did you do with the snake poop?” “There was a professor at Miami. In the biology department. A herpetologist. He agreed to take a look at it.” “And?” “He felt confident it was not...
The school-bell is a call to battle, every step to class, a step into the firing-line. Here is the target, fine skin at the temple, cheek still rounded from being fifteen. Surrendered, surrounded, she takes the bullet in the head and walks on. The missile cuts a...