I remember the sound of gravel crunching

I remember the sound of gravel crunching under the wheels as I inched the car up the driveway. I could smell

death. Would anyone find out what I had done? I went inside and washed my face. It had been a crazy night. Suddenly, the lights went out. I turned and

there he was. He was totally nude from the knees up. Varicose veins meant he had to wear those damned socks all the time, but I didn't care, I loved him. He was my

last survivng relative, and no matter that he was a war criminal wanted for

water boarding and torture of children--he was the only blood left. The only thing separating them from his bad deeds and

tell-all book. Damned brats were playing in his yard one time too many. So, he reached into his

pants and began to sling the contents of his depends at anyone within range of flying excrement. Those caught screaming found themselves choking on something unpleasant, then vomit

like a newborn baby. Understandably, Sara wanted him to put on some clean pants and clean up the area. Sara was a neat freak after all.

went her days. And her nights, as ever, lifted her out of depravity toward that pink ruffled world of six-year-old girls, where monsters are someone else.