None of the wives mention the security guards by the door, who will probably tackle us to the ground if we try to leave without our husbands.

For males twenty-five is the fatal age. For women it's twenty. We are all dropping like flies.

Did you tell freedom hello for me?

You’re insane, you know that?” he says. “It’s the only thing keeping me afloat,” I say.

Ah, love. That’s what the world has lost. There’s no more love, only the illusion of it.

The months fall to shards at my feet.

They never exhale, the trees; on a very windy day, they rustle and inhale, and then the leaves and the branches all tremble as though something means to strangle the life from them. The sky watches on. The world is filled with anticipation, as if to wonder if this day will be a great day, or a horrible day, or the last day.