Author: The Helix

He was a tad more than six, an innocent lad who sold icicles, as he desperately tried to fix life’s acerbity, their abject poverty— freedom from fate’s fiendish jinx. He only had his mother, both her legs amputated due
On a Tuesday afternoon in April, the meat rises. Douglas Speck is getting a little freaky with Amy Jenkins up against the dumpster behind the high school cafeteria, and while he’s going in for the landing she whispers something
On this page, I exhibit the fauvist mother gazein thirsty gouache strokes that couldn’t be undone.But my heart hides the aches of a peasant paintbrushwhose meager lines, couldn’t be made visible.   On it, my father’s nose and skin
She tugged at her purple bracelet, twisted her hair, and worried of what would happen if the guard saw her walk in. What would he think? What would anyone think?

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