The final six were gratuitous. She fell limp for them, head hanging back, twitching up at each blow, the muscles in her arms taut. Twice they had to p...use to push her hair forwards. Her back was a mess, oozing blood that sprayed up when the cats struck. The beadles were admirably professional, delivering each blow with precision and power. By the time they’d finished she was only semi-conscious, her back a mangled mess, small strips of skin hanging loose. When they loosed her, she collapsed,. She laughed that hearty lumberjack laugh of hers and I couldn’t help but join in. Soon we were both in tears, as fits of giggles overtook us. “I’m April.” She reached out for my hand. “Haley.” I took it, knowing I would never want to let go. Over dinner that first night, I found out April was a poet, working odd jobs when she needed to so she could support her carefree existence. She had moved to California from Wyoming because of her love of the beach. She had a free spirit, a gentle. More

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