Tobias Wade

The enthusiasm was deafening. 

A wound that my mother says is a blessing in disguise, but I don’t see it.

“It’s hard to tell what we’re going to need… until we need it. Take care now.” 

“You must never ask God and for anything. You must only thank him for what he has already done.” 

“He’s going to hurt you, Mahjouba. You wouldn’t be the first either. Get out, or this may be the last card you ever receive.” 

It isn’t the mundane type of secret either: Dad isn’t hiding any affairs, Mom doesn’t drink herself to sleep, and my sister doesn’t sneak boys or drugs up to her room. They do, however, all have their own demons, and they keep them hidden from the rest of the world.

This was a first for me. I’ve never seen a doctor pronounce a child stillborn with a hand over its mouth to suppress its cries

It was the first time I’ve ever seen a Facebook ad for a missing person

When I was about to die, my life didn’t flash before my eyes.

The screen shakes erratically, and there’s nothing but splinters and lances of light and screaming.

The paper — the bottle — even the smooth archaic penmanship, all seeming ancient and untampered with. So what were the chances that it would be addressed to someone else with my name?

“Something’s coming Frankie, and I don’t want to be around when it gets here.”