For as long as I can remember I’ve always wanted sisters or even just a sister, singular, but never had one because of circumstances clearly beyond my control. I’m uncertain of the origin of this desire since I had a full childhood and a fun brother, but nevertheless, I’ve always wanted, nay, desperately dreamed of how great having a sister would be . . .
Tell us about yourself.
I started to write, like most of us, when I was a hormonal teenager, and I still always smile when I find those tortured typewriter-written poems on scraps in the bottom of drawers . . .
It began with the birds, Icarus-winged, high and fast, far reaching towards the sunset, a reckless dance that swam upon the evening breeze. Starling cloud storms thundered westwards; squawking gulls, twisting and circling, cackled across the thrashing sea . . .
“I am not for this,” he thought as he stumbled down the stairs, wheezing, unable to keep up with his own clumsy feet. And then, almost simultaneously: “I can’t even hear myself think over this racket!”
The air raid siren—like a tail-less, one-eyed alley cat protesting the fresh tear in its shoulder and the sticky blood on its coat—mewled oppressively in the close and heavy darkness . . .