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BK
From my basement, I unearthed a collection of small containers. I carried them into the sunlight, a mound of dirty boxes set at your feet. Unlikely seen as gifts, imagine my surprise! Body washed in water dipped from your waves. We fitted into the nightwhorl of a seashell, our(more)
mactheknife
The yellow house on the corner used to contain a woman who yelled at the top of her lungs, at 5:30 in the morning. I often heard her when I went out for my early morning run. She would stand on her porch and yell incomprehensible things, usually of(more)
gazingatthesun
As soon as I stepped into the living room, I knew we had our man. Everything fit, textbook. And there, on the mantle, was a row of five little boxes. One for each victim.  

In each one was a lock of hair. His fingerprints would be on the(more)