Now
I sit on the front row, staring at the pale, lifeless body before me. The body I can identify as my older brother, Quinton. The man I spent my life and created memories with. The same man who cared for me. I thought Quinton would never die, but life is short.
YOU ARE READING
Life is Short
Historical Fiction~ Featured on Historical Fiction profile. ~ ~Submitted in the Mark Twain Writing Conference.~ I sit on the front row, staring at the pale, lifeless body before me. The body I can identify as my older brother, Quinton. The man I have spent my life an...
