Gran runs her fingers through my hair, smiling down at me. I'm too weak to reach up and trace her laugh lines, but I trace them with my eyes, thinking of all the years that have gone by between Lucy and me with Gran. All the memories held in those lines, smiles and laughs. I am touched by the way our generations pass, one to the other, our genes the same yet slightly altered, carrying with us all of those memories.

— M. Starks

It seems impossible to wheedle his way out of his impending death. No one has before him. But just as a young person feels invincible, he cannot bring himself to accept the looming train as he stands upon the tracks feeling the deep rumbling of the behemoth barreling straight toward him.

— M. Starks