Sung Home: Chapter Eight. {fiction}
I was named after a big batik that Grandma Sita had on the wall of her bedroom of the Hindu goddess Lakshmi... Mama took it down to take home with us.
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Sung Home: Chapter Seven. {fiction}
Seth and Daddy seemed to sink more deeply into their beds, like emaciated sloths that had fallen asleep in quicksand, descending ever farther away from us.
Sung Home: Chapter Six. {fiction}
While on these expeditions, if there was any leftover booty, we brought it home to Mama, preparing it for her to show off our newest cooking skills.
Sung Home: Chapter Five. {fiction}
One of the older women rose from her chair and strode over to us. Her hair was stringy and greasy like Stinky Boy’s but she looked strong and confident.
Sung Home: Chapter Four. {fiction}
Bombed, burnt and weather-battered homes lined the streets, the smoky tang sometimes punctuated by the smell of long rotted flesh.
Sung Home: Chapter Three. {fiction}
I felt a little insulted that they would just stop looking for me like that. I squelched a brief impulse to toss pebbles down at them.
Sung Home: Chapter Two. {fiction}
My daddy once told me, “Move toward what you want, not away from what you fear.” I hummed the song, Mama’s song, that I hoped would take me to my new home.
Sung Home: Chapter One. {fiction}
Sylvia found out that Darian was no Prince Charming. Darian’s compound had been the only home I had known for the last seven years, almost half my life.