The Stories We Carry

a reflection, your weekly prompt, and a reminder

The first time I thought I was on fire I was four years old. Cardboard boxes full of haphazardly packed belongings lined the walls of our new home in San Antonio, where the U. S. Army had deposited my family. By day, the boxes had been the bones of a fort, the bricks of a castle, and a ready-made obstacle course for my younger sister and me. By night, t…