My Mom Flies An Fighter Jet

and took out the original photograph, the same one I had copied for class. Aunt June held it beneath a blue light. A tiny symbol glowed near the edge. A wing. A ghostly, broken wing.

Mom whispered, he marked it.

Before anyone could move, every monitor in the room flickered. Static filled the screens. Then a face appeared. Elias Voss. Older than in the continue reading …