During his college years, Christopher Barzak’s dream of becoming an author was something others considered too fantastical for a boy from rural Ohio; turns out, being fantastical is something Mr. Barzak has an incredible knack for.
It didn’t take with me, the world and its rules, the things it expected of me. In the end, that’s the only reason why I find myself still here after all these countless years, and still I refuse to leave the scene. If you drop a beat, I’m on it. If I hear the slightest scratch, I’m ready to spin.
It stabbed up from the center of his otherwise empty room, its three sides so steep they were nearly vertical, converging to a sharp point that aimed toward the skylight. Jacob gaped at it, disbelieving the sight.
Teri Lewis was obsessing about her sister’s bad marriage and the president’s latest compromise, so she barely listened to Flo’s improvised song about pandas and dandelions, coming from the stroller in front of her. Maybe if she’d known this would be the last time she’d ever hear her baby sing, she’d have stopped to relish the moment: