Deborah M. Prum

The old lady stood so close I felt her hot breath on my neck. Her cramped apartment was filled to overflowing: moving boxes stacked on end, brass floor lamps, glass table lamps, old books, gilt-edged picture frames leaning against the walls. "Ma'a [...]

Between grief and nothing I will take grief. William Faulkner Rain splattered against the windshield of the van. The glass fogged. Meg fumbled with buttons on the unfamiliar dashboard, trying to find the defrost. After turning on the radio and [...]