Short Stories


He stared at me, hidden and protected by all the dropped heads looking at their phones in the crowd. He looked like an officer, but most white men do to me. He had a gun snuggling against his hip though. But he didn’t have a uniform on, just a faded shirt that said FBI: Female… Continue reading Black-handed


Pieces Of The World In My Hands

What you hold can tell a lot about your life, or simply where/what you are in that moment. What you hold in a picture speaks thousands of words…