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—Nevertheless you did kill him?
—I was present at his death.
—Present with a knife.
—Mine was not the only hand on that knife.
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Something so good and pure at the core of a man like my husband hardens to a bullet in the forge of an inhuman world. He might laugh at me for saying so. Read the rest of this entry »
We all know the good girls and the men they travel with. I saw them this morning at the pet market and didn’t think anything of it. They were receiving instruction, yes, that is often the case; it is an education for them to be among people. Read the rest of this entry »
He sits in a chair of his own design, hewn from local timber. Arms laid like lumber on the armrests, trunk immobile, head erect, eyes at rest, he sees and judges who passes before him. Mostly, that’s us. Read the rest of this entry »
The light is good in Interrogation A. Not so bright I can’t think. And it doesn’t buzz like those godawful fluorescents in B that made it so hard to remember the truth. I’ve been here since yesterday. They’re starting to like me. Read the rest of this entry »
If ghosts could kill themselves, they would. I have it on good authority. They long to be here or there. Neither body nor yet pure light, they are shadows on the houses they lived in. Read the rest of this entry »