Author: vu minh

The smell of gasoline was the first thing I noticed. Not from a car, but splashed all around me, soaking into the cracked asphalt of the abandoned lot. Then the laughter, cruel and high-pitched, echoing off the boarded-up windows of the old factory. Five of them, their faces blurred in my panicked vision, circling me…

The crunch of the first flower stalk snapped under their Timberland boots echoed like a gunshot in my ears. I wanted to scream, to lunge, but I stood frozen, watching them methodically dismantle the only piece of my sister Sarah I had left. It wasn’t just a garden; it was her sanctuary, her last act…

The smell of Salisbury steak still makes my stomach churn. Not because it tasted bad, but because of what happened that day in the school cafeteria. I was 16, wearing a hand-me-down sweater two sizes too big, trying to disappear into the metal chair. My family wasn’t exactly swimming in cash, and the free lunch…

The Glock felt cold and familiar in my hand. Not *my* Glock, of course. This one belonged to the taller of the two scumbags who thought it was clever to corner a guy walking his dog at dusk. “Wallet. Phone. Keys,” he barked, the gun wavering slightly. His buddy, a skinny kid with a meth-mouth…

The wind was a blade, each gust carving deeper into my exposed skin. Three hours. Three hours I’d been standing on that porch, the flimsy cotton of my pajamas offering zero protection against the January storm. I could see them inside, the flickering light of the TV painting shadows across their gleeful faces as they…

The wind bit hard that day, just like it always did out on that godforsaken patch of land they called a memorial garden. Mom loved it, though. Said the endless sky made her feel free. Free from what, I never knew, but I brought her ashes there anyway, just like she asked. I knelt, trying…

The rain was a freezing slap, each drop a tiny hammer blow against my skin. “Cry for us, orphan!” they screamed, the pack of them, their faces flushed with a joy that made my stomach churn. I was pinned against the brick wall of the school, the rough surface digging into my back. My new…

The shattered glass crunched under my boots as I stepped onto the porch. Blood. Not mine. My heart seized. I ran, tripping over a broken flowerpot, and there she was. Patches, my calico kitten, lying in a pool of crimson, a shard of glass sticking out of her side. Her mewls were weak, pathetic. Disgusting…

The icy water hit me like a physical blow, stealing my breath and numbing my skin. I tasted mud, felt it grinding against my cheek as I struggled to push myself up. But his boot was heavy on my back, grinding me further into the muck. Laughter echoed around me, the sound amplified by the…

The sound of Buddy’s yelp still rings in my ears, sharp and sudden, cutting through the afternoon like a shard of glass. I stood there, frozen, as Dale, that smug piece of small-town garbage, laughed, his buddies echoing his cruelty. They’d cornered us in the park, a place Buddy and I came to every day…