Seth and Daddy seemed to sink more deeply into their beds, like emaciated sloths that had fallen asleep in quicksand, descending ever farther away from us.
One of the older women rose from her chair and strode over to us. Her hair was stringy and greasy like Stinky Boy’s but she looked strong and confident.
My daddy once told me, “Move toward what you want, not away from what you fear.” I hummed the song, Mama’s song, that I hoped would take me to my new home.
Sylvia found out that Darian was no Prince Charming. Darian’s compound had been the only home I had known for the last seven years, almost half my life.
The younger generations have started life by being handed a bag of crap for their future, a future that will necessarily consist of undoing all the harm...