Elise could smell the stink of iron and sweat under the disinfectant and pharmaceuticals. It was in her hair, under her fingernails, between the folds of her skin.

On the kitchen bench, an envelope sits perched against the side of a mug, the words NEVE written on the front in bold print. I rip it open impatiently. I am a kid on Christmas morning.

She kicked the towels aside and opened the cabinet. Packets of medicine fell into the dirty sink. Shoving them back inside, Charlotte searched for that familiar, comforting shape.

I watch the brown chunk dissolve as the flame heats the bottom of the rusted spoon. Looks like cola pop rocks. Taste the explosion.

Mary looked down at the lamb. Her fleece was white as snow, and her ears were sticking out the sides of her fluffy head like Yoda.

Max would hide behind the generator, pleasuring himself, holding one hand over his mouth to stifle the sounds, afraid that if he were caught he would be shot on the spot.