As the months went by, she taught me how to write sonnets, blank verses, golden shuffles, and narrative poetry among other forms. She made me go over drafts again and again until they were either short and powerful or long and thoughtful.
I’m soaking wet. My cargo pants are dark brown, my hoodie a drenched and obsidian black, and my Levi boots are so dark they resemble shadows. A flash of lightning strikes near the building but I don’t flinch.
Drake rows for what feels like hours. He loses all sense of time. The moon shines in the eternal night as it always does and Dark City—his heinous and sadistic home—fades in the distance, glad to be rid of him. The place where his parents’ corpses will be dumped into the sea for whatever animal wants it, the place where he committed his first murder, his first robbery, his first rape, his first act of arson, his first burglary.
