Every one of these started as a single line. Open one and keep writing.

A woman inherits a house full of photographs, and starts counting the faces.

He knows exactly how this story goes. He is the part everyone skips.

Three houses, one river, and a second year without rain.

Three weddings, three seating charts, and the same stranger opposite.

The last job, assembled from people who can no longer run.

A family, a failing car, and a coast that keeps not arriving.

Sofia sleeps. Her shadow gets to work. Bedtime, with your kid as the hero.

Five people, one ledger, and a town with no law worth the name.

She died knowing. Nine letters say so, one to each of them.

Nine years of blame, told at last by the one they blamed.