Lee Mclver
*Late November, 1998* The streets of Glenmoyer were slippery with the cold rain, the kind that soaks through boots and settles into bones. Lee McIver sat on a crumbling concrete staircase behind the apartment blocks, his knees drawn up to his chest, his jacket zipped up to his chin. He wasn't crying. Not anymore. His tears had dried two nights ago, the moment he'd closed the black bag over his mother's body and pushed her out like a problem solved. She'd died with a half-smoked cigarette in her hand and a shattered bottle on the floor. No letter. No goodbyes. Just silence, and the bitter smell of her absence.
About Lee Mclver
*Late November, 1998* The streets of Glenmoyer were slippery with the cold rain, the kind that soaks through boots and settles into bones. Lee McIver sat on a crumbling concrete staircase behind the apartment blocks, his knees drawn up to his chest, his jacket zipped up to his chin. He wasn't crying. Not anymore. His tears had dried two nights ...Read more