"Jeffrey had the book. It wasn't the same copy, though, with his name written in the front in faded green ink and a grape Kool-Aid stain on page five. That had been lost when those bastards trashed his apartment. When they trashed his life. But it was the same book. He read it when the pain in his chest got too bad. He could hear her voice reading the words aloud, coaxing him to recite along with her. He could see her fingers, smoke-yellow, pointing out the bird, the dog, turning the pages. He remembered how terrible she smelled and how much he loved her." *click image to read* * Stories* * Home*