The Bells of St. Brigit's

Tugging at that thin filament at the edges of my brain, leading me through the maze of old paths and connections, reintroducing me to myself and my life, like a baby glancing himself in a mirror, they ring.

My ears focus. My eyes touch darkness. I clear my rusted throat. "The bells of St. Brigit's are calling tonight."

She screams and drops a purple plate. "Dad's back!" She rushes over the fragments of our shattered, scattered lives.

Blue tears leak from her eyes. I smell her sadness.


To read more, click