When the Tides Held the Moon

by Venessa Vida Kelley

Had I known I would never see that shade of blue again, I would have paid better attention.

“Just because she looks at you does not mean she sees you,” Río said with all the steadiness I couldn’t muster myself. “Otherwise, she would not have taken what you did not offer.”

I’d gotten so used to being treated like I couldn’t feel pain; I was a machine meant to labor until the gears failed

“Go ndéana an diabhal dréimire de cnámh do dhroma ag piocadh úll i ngairdín Ifrinn!” I gaped. “What’d you just say?” “‘May the devil make a ladder of your backbone while he picks apples in Hell’s garden.’