Excerpt #1: Sandcastles.

...some things aren't meant to last, like memories and sandcastles.

I wander the small, cramped room, careful not to stumble on the crooked, garage-sale furniture. Next to her bed, on a garish little table painted rust orange, sits a single photograph in a plastic frame. She is smiling and radiant, hair blowing in the wind, perfectly matched pink cardigan and tan skirt, her arm looped around him.

He is dark and morose, eyes raised to the camera in a plea, mouth unmoving, jaw ever so slightly clenched.

It is a perfect photograph.

Because sometimes, one person's disease can spread in ways you couldn't imagine, and the only proof is in the before and after shots.

***
excerpt from a short story/novel I've been writing.