Matthew Baldwin on Patreon
A gunshot is a deceptively simple thing.
I remember her as she was then, hunting for shells and sand dollars in the coastal shallows, incongruous and beautiful in a sun dress and galoshes.
We were five days out of a resupply stop in Cape Verde and bound for the New World when the heavy fog came on us.
It had been years, but there was no mistaking your handwriting on the postcard. “Come meet me.” That’s all. Just three words scribbled out in black ballpoint, but that was all I needed to know it was you. The card itself was nondescript, one of
The stones were there when we woke up one morning. We have no idea how they got there: a row of boulders spread out in a half-mile arch on the western outskirts of town. Other than the placement, there was nothing unusual about them whatsoever.
Much to Sammy’s chagrin, Splice of Life’s operational regulations required her to remain in the wheelchair once the procedure was complete. For three years already she’d been confined to it, and she was ready to be free of it, if just for a little