Ah, Christine. Hair the color of a field of strawberries and skin white as cream. My ears always delighted in her lilting English accent, honeyed by, I presumed, from growing up in Yorkshire. Bright blue eyes swept the room, quickly taking in the surroundings. Never missing a detail or overlooking a need. She would sweep … Continue reading Brotherhood
journal entry
To the brink
Jack stared at the closed bedroom door before letting out a breath. The ringing words still echoed in his head. "I hate you," his youngest, Anna, had screamed. Now what? Race in there and either throttle or lecture her? He knew the books said not to do that -- but to be so disrespected by … Continue reading To the brink
Greg C. Miller, Author 