Go to Postcards From Hell and read my pal Tristan Davenport’s story “La Sequía”. I mean, the first sentence is:
Contrary to promises made in church, death does not give her the use of her legs back.
You know you want to.
(And yeah, there’s been lots of cool stuff on Postcards From…, so go and troll the archives. But this story just hit me. Not just because he’s a classmate of mine from Seattle, either.)