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Photo by author Fire engulfing the horizon behind the young woman with her hair toppled on her head, she marched away. Her sooty face grimaced as her footsteps fell on the cracked ground. She wore torn clothes, and like her face, smeared with black. She pulled up the strap of
(Before they burn you) Be late, tell them my alarm didn’t go off Don’t burn your bridges I want to call off Don’t burn your bridges I want to walk out that door Don’t burn your bridges I’m told. I’m grim. I feel my
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Sings John Adams in the beginning of 1776, the musical. And I peer like he did into the shadows with my hand over my eyes to help me see. So, I ask and hope not to wait as long as John did for a letter from Abigail, "Is anyone