My eyelids fly open as a stool crashes to the floor, sending charts swirling down and skittering past my feet. My father stands at the window, rubs his eyes, looks again. “Nima! Nima, look!” He points with one hand, gestures wildly with the other. “What is it?” He...
Something stirs in me. No. Someone. I rest my hand there, wait, feel nothing. “Too soon,” my mother says quietly, watching me from the corner of her eye. She looks at me as she does when she thinks I am ill – looking away without quite looking away, watching carefully...
I am the last man on earth to be telling this story – a ragged man who smells of sheep and earth and campfire. I would not tell it, except that it happened to me. An hour ago, we were in the fields, throwing sticks on the fire and trying to stay warm. An hour ago, I...
Every ounce of strength, every gasp of breath; she gathers it all, and with one final cry, she pushes the child into the cold world. A man in rough clothing takes the baby in his rough hands and stares as unpracticed tears run down his face. He rubs the child with a...
Recent Comments