Willie said normal was boring and that I should be grateful that I had a touch of spice. She said no one cared about boring people, and when they died, they were forgotten, like something that slips behind the dresser.

I planted a seed of hatred in my heart. I swore it would grow to be a massive tree whose roots would strangle them all.

I wasn't certain of anything anymore, except that New Orleans was a faithless friend and I wanted to leave her.

Andrius, I'm...scared." He stopped and turned to me. "No. Don't be scared. Don't give them anything Lina, not even your fear.

My breathing slowed. I shaded her thick chestnut hair resting in a smooth curve against her face, a large bruise blazing across her cheek. I paused, looking over my shoulder to make certain I was alone. I drew her eye makeup, smudged by tears. In her watery eyes I drew the reflection of the commander, standing in front of her, his fist clenched. I continued to sketch, exhaled, and shook out my hands.

What was life asking of me? How could I respond when I didn't know the question?

Was it harder to die, or harder to be the one who survived?