Hers had always been shorter, and she wondered if it had something to do with a past life. Maybe she was a cantankerous grandmother in the Salem Witch Trials, and this is where the match struck. Maybe she was a man who finally got caught by the husband and deserved the clock of a right hook. Could she have been in War World II—shrapnel spinning, spiraling, set dead on her right earlobe but missing its mark by a few inches to the left and up? Or perhaps she was a one-eyed mythical creature, dancing the earth before stars even exploded.

Bio: Rachel Weinhaus