When I touched my brow to that bloody wood and cried, “Praise the Maker,” the sky opened up and swallowed a passing comet, a multitude of stars, and all that was considered holy. When I told a lie I tasted the salt spray that painted the harbors of Babylon.
Jessica Halsey lives in Arkansas and is working toward earning a degree in Laboratory Science while she writes books about werewolves and fairies, a well as many strange poems. She loves birdwatching and performing venipuncture. Her spark bird is the Rose-Breasted Grosbeak and her house words are, “Is there blood on the floor?” View all posts by jessicahalseywrites