Nadav Spiegelman

My Sister, the Serial Killer

Oyinkan Braithwaite
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A man enters the hospital and makes a beeline for the reception desk. He is short, but he makes up for that in girth. He barrels toward us, and I brace myself for the impact. “I have an appointment!”
She never had any children and she has told us, time without number, that she considers us her surrogate daughters. We consider ourselves no such thing.
her heels are so high, a lesser woman would have already fallen down the stairs.