B. Irreton. “You’re burning up. Sheppard, you mean, Sir," interrupted his wife, ironically. So you took my womb away, you took my baby! So I could be a monster! Because she was a monster! We are monsters!” He grabbed the top of the cannon away from her face. ’ ‘For shame, Hilary,’ admonished his fiancée, casting a pitying glance at the refugees. I never intended it to be anything but a short story, for I had never completed even the shortest of stories unless forced to in grammar school. “I feel shabby and disgraced.
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