December by Fred Muratori
Death is rarely timed to match the logical end of something else. My father died in December, but my mother died in January.
Death is rarely timed to match the logical end of something else. My father died in December, but my mother died in January.
Lesser evils gather and disperse, ephemeral as fine hairs on a barbershop floor. But the greater evils aren’t obvious until it's too late. You think Looks like it might rain and then a SWAT team storms the house next door.