Little Things
She tells him about it in a quiet voice, eyes downcast. But she realizes that Papa’s listening, and that makes a bit of something unknown swell in her chest…
Little Actions
The light’s failing. She still keeps a lookout for a small, brown shape in the dunes of white. She remembers the feel of it between her palms, downy and warm…
Busted Hands and Red Paint
Joe had quick hands. Had. Running a brush across a piece of thick paper in slow, jerky lines, he gritted his teeth. Painting was good for him, part of his…