Special Agent Eric Paulson stood in my doorway, with a goofy smile on his thin lips. He flicked away his still burning cigarette. Snowflakes melted on his grey stubby chin.
“What do you want?” I asked. Bitterness seeped from the back of my throat. I wanted to spit it out, but words fell out instead. “Seven. Years.” He didn’t even call when my sweet little Anna died. Continue reading “Cursed, not Gifted”
I plunked down into the leather couch and tugged the patchwork quilt over my legs. Maria, my ex-wife, made it during the two long years of our marriage. She made it for Ana, our little daughter.
My hand petted the fabric, fingers tracing the sewed ridges, for the hundredths, or thousandths time. Maybe for the millionths time by now…
Continue reading “The Stain”
I’m in love with the morning star.
This is not only about me, my stories, or my search.
It’s about the sky and the stars, and everything behind that deep blue void. Behind that distance, the stone cold space, deprived of… meaning?
That’s not right.
It isn’t the lack of meaning.
Continue reading “the name of the morning star”