Torches n' pitchforks, teacher edition, winter 2015

4. The convicted murderer sees serving time as an opportunity to resurrect himself, learning to play the flute, corresponding with a coed in letters censored of his crime.

Soon to be released, the convict writes, “I want to meet you.” The coed feels the sea of words dry up. The polite paper-doll pen-selves dance away in the wind.

5. The teen hitchhikes through a desert littered with twisted black lava, finding discarded by the roadside a zebra-print diary with a broken lock.

Soon, from the desiccated pages, a former pen-pal’s handwriting, the little circle over the “i,” whispers the old story: Boys. Stepfather. Drugs.

6. From the manila envelope, the mother removes a packet of letters, acting the ventriloquist for cousins’ voices, sharing photographs covered in fingerprints, replacing the letter in her own handwriting with a new one. Soon, the family letter will wither, the younger generation forsaking the US Postal Service in the drought of night.