The women of this family leaned towards extremes.

Weekday morning routine:Take shower.Assemble perfect outfit. Apply makeup.Pull hair into bun. Secure with glitter pencils.Accept twenty-dollar bill from Dad.Pick up latte and creamy chocolate brioche from cafe.Drive to school the long way. Listen to sad music way too loud.Nab choice parking spot under tree.

The angel lay in the little thicket. It had no need of love. There was nothing anywhere in the world could startle it. We can lie here with the angel if we like. It couldn't have hurt much when they slit its throat.

The first thing that happens is I unseal an envelope and Dad’s death falls out onto the breakfast table.

The day I turned sixteen years old I had no idea that in a few weeks nearly everyone I cared about would be dead.

When my cousin Anil-da started telling us what he’d heard at the market about the groom’s family, at my aunt Moina-pehi’s wedding in January 2002, his eyes shone like inky marbles reflecting sunlight.

When I wake up, the other side of the bed is cold.

The sun sets in the west (just about everyone knows that), but Sunset Towers faced east. Strange!

The Moonlight Sonata” envelops me again, and my mind follows its slow progression, returning me to a land so small and hungry, it devours its inhabitants, first sheltering them, then soaking in their blood.

The train tore along with an angry, irregular rhythm.