Notes on an Execution

by Danya Kukafka

We are created by what has happened to us, combined with who we choose to be.

Sister love was like food, or air, or memory itself. It was molecular.

She was no longer the closest thing to her sister. They were no longer an us, but rather two separate people, growing at two separate paces, one awake and blazing, the other formless and grasping.