Stories with a horse, ghosts, depression, alcohol, houses


March threw handfuls of clashing sleet at the rusty aluminum roofs of house and barn, drizzling reminders of the solid cold winter. Winter so ornery, that after seventy-five faithful years of ballerina pink blooms, the peony roots froze to death. A trajectory of needle-sharp ice stung Johnny‚Äôs nose, driving him deeper into his rattling shelter, …

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