In My Dreams I Hold a Knife

by Ashley Winstead

The East House Seven. Mint, Caro, Frankie, Coop, Heather, Jack, and me.

She’d asked if I thought it was possible to be perfect, and I’d amended that I didn’t need to be perfect, per se, as long as I was the best.

But in a flash, a vision of torn blond hair, sticky and red, matted against white sheets.

“Just because I’m Colombian doesn’t automatically make me a Catholic,”

I have to say I chuckled at this for very personal reasons