Terracotta

Nineteen-year-old Celeste sprawls across the desk. The alarm clock on her bedside table displays the time in red, flashing digits, but Celeste’s eyes are sealed shut. Her chemistry notes are ...

She was seventeen, with a pucker in her lips and a bounce in her hair. Her wide hips were swathed in soft denim, her pink-tipped toes squeezed into a tacky ...

Nathaniel crouched in one corner of his paddock, drinking deeply from a white, plastic bucket. The cold water lapped at his nose as he drank, ...