First, we build a structure.  Half wood, half nails.  Half sorrow bleeding out on the dirt floor. In the labyrinth, everything is brown and grey--the walls, the tiny table, even the sky muddied by April.  Nothing to be trusted, not even the wind. The girl shivers, something wet on her thighs, and in an instant, something dark burrows into her heart.  Beneath the gag, her throat hollow, unruly.  Outside, the atmosphere building with a scream.

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Now, we build a story. A woman is a certain kind of lonely--a lonely that swallows the house. The children.  Starts in on the landscape, gnawing until nothing is left but a fence post.  A single cow, dumb and lowing,  in the pasture.  Her husband is away too much, or worse,  not enough.&nbs...

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