by Frank Scozzari The icy water had been rising steadily for an hour now, and despite her best efforts, Ingrid could no longer hold on. The waterline had breached her chest and then her shoulders and then her chin. Then the force of the water, a thousand pounds of pressure…
by Perle Besserman First: What I love most about writing is being visited by characters who invite themselves onto the stage of my mind (or heart, or imagination, or dream life, or whatever you choose to call that place that is no actual “place” but is more real than the…