With a name as nebulous as the Jewish New Year, Dominic Bushnell's mouth had to hold the record for the deepest crater on this side of entropy. Quiet as most miracles are kept, everyone remembers him wearing nothing in the November snow. Dominic Bushnell could sprint faster, walk louder, scar quicker, and wander further into the woods than any other boy in the world. Teenage-tall with a smirk like a radio dial and eyes the color of static, he must have been the reason the lot of us with our Patten-leather hearts learned to worship God as a gentleman most Sunday mornings.
About the Author
LAURA INGRAM is a tiny teen with large glasses. Her poetry and prose have been published in thirty-five literary magazines, including Juked Literary Journal, The Cactus Heart Review, Enoia Review, Gravel Magazine, and The Teenage Wasteland Review.
Laura studies creative writing and dabbles in freelance editing. She loves Harry Potter and Harry Styles.