The Devil’s Dead (A Larkin Solo)
The tea cup in my hand wobbled, its contents sloshing with the motion of my shaking as I stared at the mobile in utter shock. When the blower had finally gone off in the kitchen, a few hours back, I’d gone over to it reluctantly, expecting it to
hoped it wouldn’t feel like a noose. I looked at Kerrianne, her hands still balled into fists in her lap, and I hoped she could learn to walk on ground that didn't feel like it was waiting to open up beneath her. And for myself, as the hills of the East Bay began to roll past in
A blur, I hoped for a day when I didn't have to scan the horizon for a day when "home" wasn't just another word for a new position on a map, but a place where we could finally stop bracing for the impact.