by kira.dorward | Jun 30, 2011 | Fiction
His hands moved over the tomatoes, gently squeezing for firmness. He found two he wanted; ripe and tender. She had always admired his hands. They were small for a man of his size, with stubby fingers and a well-developed callous in the one that held his lacrosse...
by kira.dorward | May 31, 2011 | Fiction
There was a frost that morning, even in May. They made small talk, driving past hills and farms, a decrepit barn missing half the wall panels that still stood as a testament to the way things had been, to where they were headed. These are our ruins, she thought. *** A...
