All I knew was, my Father was famous for being a loser, and a loser that wanted nothing to do with me, since the day I was born.
My feet crunched over dry hickory leaves. Wood rangers had stapled up Smokey Bear (“Only You Can Prevent Forest Fires!”) signs along the state roads. One cigarette butt flicked out a passing car window and there’d be real hell to pay.
Darla flexed her three-inch claws and swiped a gnarled index finger across her phone screen, scanning another batch of personal ads from Magic Matches, but none of the men looked like a suitable victim.
The city outside, so busy, so full of life, seemed in stark contrast to the deathly silence inside their home. It seemed...like a muffled silence, as if the house itself was holding its breath, waiting...
Time has a funny way of helping us come to terms with any event, no matter how horrible.
I love him. These three words were echoing around inside her head, and the noise they were making was not diminishing. They were just three words, which separately were so non-threatening, so innocuous, but when combined in that order they implied so much.