“I’m always the last to hear about these things” is a phrase that should be stricken out of my mouth. It was bad enough to watch Sister Mary Agatha’s head disintegrate right in front of my face as I was coming around the corner from the kitchen headed to the chapel...
A tire iron. It wasn’t that she thought it would look better wrapped around his neck or shoved into an orifice and then wrapped around to fill in the front of his tight denim jeans that were already packaged heavy. She just felt the bluntness of a tire iron would work...
“What the hell is that?” The three of them stood around a hand thrust up out of the fresh asphalt. All four fingers and a thumb had the same dirty and semi-charred look to them as the hand to which they were attached. There was something almost artificial about the...
