James was six years old when he first peeled off a piece of the sky.
If she hadn’t thrown stones at Jacob she would have been next, and she did not want to die.
He stared at the razor line of the horizon and tried to remember the dusk that colored the sky as a sun dipped back into the ocean.
The two young lovers packed light; taking only their most beloved possessions.
This wall cried cold, fresh spring water, and as a result, a thin blanked of moss had formed over the rock. My hand filled with tears.
Today was the day, he was sure of it. He could feel it in his very bones, and as he knew the bones were a truer source of knowledge than just about anything.
He answered without hesitating, watching as Amelión continued to trace a finger along the horizon where rock met sand.
“Not like that. Look at me, please before you answer, so that I know you are truthful in-the-now. It’s important to me.”