Demon Copperhead

by Barbara Kingsolver

It would get so quiet we could hear people in the other apartments, or their TVs. A city is the weirdest, loneliest thing.

It hit me pretty hard, how there’s no kind of sad in this world that will stop it turning. People will keep on wanting what they want, and you’re on your own.

I sat down in the middle of the graves and listened to the singing coming out of the church. The people inside sounded so glad of somebody looking out for them, never to be alone, so sure that promise was real. I’d have given an eye to be one of them.