We surveyed our house’s carbonized skeleton.
“Remember our wedding night?” Marla said. “Dancing in the living room.”
“Right here.” I pointed to a depression in the charred floor.
“The beginning of our new life,” Marla said.
I wiped her eyes and held her, then whispered, “Can I have this dance?”
Tim Boiteau is a Writers of the Future winner and author of The Nilwere (Grendel Press). See more at timboiteau.wordpress.com.
<p>For centuries, sailors crossing the Atlantic believed
<p>At a glance, the fall of <a
<p>The Vikings were bearded, brutish, spoiling for
Sorry, the comment form is closed at this time.
We surveyed our house’s carbonized skeleton.
“Remember our wedding night?” Marla said. “Dancing in the living room.”
“Right here.” I pointed to a depression in the charred floor.
“The beginning of our new life,” Marla said.
I wiped her eyes and held her, then whispered, “Can I have this dance?”
Tim Boiteau is a Writers of the Future winner and author of The Nilwere (Grendel Press). See more at timboiteau.wordpress.com.
<p>For centuries, sailors crossing the Atlantic believed
<p>At a glance, the fall of <a
<p>The Vikings were bearded, brutish, spoiling for
Sorry, the comment form is closed at this time.
