I want to give you a first page review of my book.
Sunday, March 1985
The wind is coming. I feel the cold air. My hair is caught up, whirling round and round. The wind is taking me. My body’s light as air. What’s happening? I choked on my own blood. Did I hear a gunshot? I smell gun oil–hot metal. I’m rising. Stop. What’s pulling me? Where are my boys? Where am I? Am I dead?
Help! Someone help me! Sunny! What’s happening to me? I want my boys. Where are my boys? You know I would never leave them. And Gina’s spirit rose with wind.