Lazarus

Lazarus

We lean over his bed, trembling. The tired face is a mockery of itself, a deflated balloon, sunken and empty, eyes staring into nothing, mouth slack and open. His chest falls, shuddering, and does not rise again. Mary wails her sorrow, and I wish I could join her, but...
Healed

Healed

The old woman’s eyes narrow into an angry squint, and her lips curl in disgust. “Filthy!” she spurts, pointing at me and then twisting away. Confused, I look down, see a damp streak on my skirt, and my fingers come away red and sticky. That was 12 years ago, but the...
Be a Host

Be a Host

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