Other Stories from the Author

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"It was an open casket funeral and the boys each took turns kneeling next to the deceased to pray. When it was Mario’s turn, his stomach was in knots. He knelt, trying to look away from Christian’s face. He closed his eyes and tried to pray. Flashbacks to Mademoiselle’s death played in his head as if it were a continuous recording. He thought it was better to open his eyes and look at his dead friend than to watch Mademoiselle’s death over and over. When he opened his eyes, Christian’s head was turned, eyes open and staring at him. Mario was paralyzed with fear."

  "A note that would be read a thousand times by her parents, she thought. A note that would be deciphered, interpreted, misinterpreted and twisted to fit whatever narrative her parents would want it to fit. Ultimately, they would blame the music. That horrible music she listened to all the time. The Smiths, Joy Division, This Mortal Coil, Tears for Fears, New Order. "

"That’s what they were called, campers.  They were not men or prisoners or inmates or detainees, they were campers...He was one of the camp instructors.  There were no guards in the camp, only instructors.  The men in the watchtowers with guns were instructors.  The men who supervised the campers in the large open dorms were instructors.  Heavily armed instructors guarded the main gate and performed routine patrols all along the fenced compound 24/7."