The Culling

Not every story has a happy ending, but that doesn't mean it's not worth telling.

I lean forward and pinch his nostrils closed again, press my lips to his, and blow in more air. I think about all those times he stole my breath away. Why doesn't he use it now?

I'm not going to end up in some heap of crushed dreams.

Anybody that's capable of love can't be all bad.

His lips graze my ear and it's like fireflies are buzzing around my heart.

Grieving is a weakness-too human, too mired in compassion, and we can't repeat that mistake, can we?

I've seen that cornered look on more than a few Parish faces over the years, and each time it brings a lump to my throat. The old-timers say you eventually get numb to it. I'm not sure I want to live that long.