There wasn’t a lot to do that day; the grandfather clock in the hallway chimed out the hour and the low throbs probed Lillian’s skull, bringing her procrastination and cowardice to her attention. Lillian sat on the hard kitchen floor with her back to the pantry and her hand firmly clasping a soiled rag to the inside of her right arm. Small crimson beads fell from the rag and dripped onto the tiled...
When I feel hungry I know I'm doing okay. When I...