The answer is arbitrary: as elusive as a throw of the dice.
I had a friend. When I was eight years old, I had a friend. Her name was Anni.
This is what I HAVE to tell.
Memory is a blessing and a curse.
May the last words of the victim surpass and outlast those of the killer.
In the back of the vegetable garden was a very old and quite large beehive that my parents had transformed into a store and playhouse for us. They painted the outside of this shack green and helped us sew red-checkered …