Maybe the machine could see the words she never spoke.
October 1955. If Albert Black sings to himself he can almost see himself back home in Belfast, the place where he came from.
The crackle of gunshots bounced between the mountainsides, the percussion fading with each return of echo.
When I was eleven, I formally resigned from the family dream.
Look, I didn’t want to be a half-blood. If you’re reading this because you think you might be one, my advice is: close this book right now.
Willa Drake and Sonya Bailey were selling candy bars door-to-door.
The magpies are back.
At first Claude said nothing.
Being better than everyone else was exhausting work.
There’s no way to know the exact second your life changes forever.
The September days are shorter and cooler now.
‘Miss Armstrong? Miss Armstrong, can you hear me?’
It's gutting how much can change in just four weeks.
Once we have a father, but our father dies without us noticing.
That I have my own lawn sprinkler has never quite dawned on me
‘Salaam, Ali-jaan. It’s me.’
Dear young girls, Home again from the deserts and oases of the Sheikdoms I find your enthusiastic letters on my desk.
Dr. Guzman rubbed her tired eyes.
They were young, educated, and both virgins on this, their wedding night, and they lived in a time when a conversation about sexual difficulties was plainly impossible.
The sharks are circling, their nostrils twitching at the scent of blood.