By Rachel Muenz
The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen was the blood, spraying from the brick like fireworks. Glorious red. White shards fell among the pinecones, bits of his teeth. His square-jawed face erased. And the shriek had such power, it seemed to vibrate the stripe of sky, the only bit you could see through those God-awful trees. All of it painted by my nine-year-old hand.