My first memory is of static. It started with my feet being caressed by the soft, cocoa-scented hands of my nanny, the one who could make me laugh with a wiggle of her
Fiction + non-Fiction
My little brother will die soon. Maybe tomorrow, or the day after that.
The woman was in her mid-thirties, black-haired, brown-eyed, and dressed hurriedly in the pale light of that autumn morning.
On a rocky beach somewhere in Scandinavia I walked along the curvy length of the shore, pausing every so often to pick up a stone or a shell which caught my eye.
I learned about the curse on my father shortly after he died.