They kicked the family out of the apartment upstairs and I saw them with their things on the side of the street. Everybody is looking for someplace safe.

We called her Rusty because there was a rumor that the hair between her legs was the red color of rust and aren’t the neighborhood kids so funny?

The first time I died, Ima tells me, the sun flared its great, fiery disc and swallowed the whole world in a moment. And everything that had been was then no more. The second time I died, it was at the hands of a grand, dark army, their bayonets through my stomach and heart. And when I fell their boots marched over my corpse as though a body that falls was never standing to begin with.

Beauty is measured by glances and smiles. By Instagram followers and likes. We measure it in modeling contracts and movie screens. We put it on magazine covers as blushing brides for overeager guys in suits-and-ties. Magazine covers with shirtless, square-jawed men who are mysterious but still accessible. It is gauged by thirst levels and desire