Contributor: Stephen V. Ramey - - A boy stood in dappled sunlight, blocking my way. He was bone thin, all arms and legs. His expression reminded me of a clown's face. Not the garish white makeup and oversized nose, but the way his lips curled into a goofy smile even as his gaze violated me. "What do you want?" I said. I had some change in my purse, but he should at least have to ask before I offered it up. He laughed a child's laugh, unpracticed, full of noise. He raised one hand. In his fist was clutched a hand grenade, oblong and dimpled, grayish green in color. "Where is your mother?" I said. "Here," he said. "Where?" "Dead," he admitted. "Your father, then." What a crass woman I must seem, not to offer sympathy for a dead mother. "Hell," the boy said. He lowered the first hand and raised the other. It, too, held a grenade. The pin...

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Author: Stephen V. Ramey