My sister wakes me.
She puts a finger to her lips and we pad down the hall in our fleece footie pyjamas. It is still dark so she holds my hand on the stairs.
Our parents stand in the dining room. I feel strange—like it’s snowing inside. There is quiet and cold. Our da stares at something on the floor: a Christmas stocking.
I don’t understand why it’s in our house. We don’t have stockings. Or a tree with ornaments.
“There’s a note,” Da says.
My sister points to the shattered window. We are not welcome here.
I wrote my first story when I was nine years old and have never looked back. My work has appeared both online and in print in lit mags, newsletters, websites, newspapers, and anthologies. I have a master’s degree in writing and have taught all ages, from Kindergarteners to adults. When other girls dreamt of being a ballerina, I dreamt of scribbling my thoughts in a notebook and turning them into a book. I bleed ink.
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Blog: Lemon Shark