November 15th, 2010
It’s raining the day we bury my grandfather. He was just seventy, celebrated that milestone birthday the month before I moved away to begin university. My grandmother was the one to find him. He’d probably been dead for a couple hours by then. He always got up early, four-thirty or five, and showered in the downstairs bathroom so he wouldn’t disturb anyone. I realize this makes him sound like some sort of kind person who always put the needs of others before himself.
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October 3rd, 2010
The frost on the window is thick enough for Annie to scrawl her name in, but she doesn’t dare. She wears jeans and a black turtleneck and a denim jacket with frayed cuffs. She shivers, a long tremor that starts at her shoulders and slides down the length of her body, exiting the soles of her feet like lightening.
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