Excerpt : The Guardian


Just Reviews

CHAPTER 1

I couldn’t pry my eyes away from the wrinkled skin of
her forearm.

It could have been somebody’s zip code, guiding letters, bills, and tons of junk mail to people’s houses. It could bring birthday greetings and Christmas cards, and sometimes it could deliver news that we just don’t want to hear. It might show where a lot of people live when it’s
on an envelope, with a stamp parked neatly in the corner.
But this number wasn’t on an envelope. It didn’t delight anyone with news about a new baby or winning the lottery. It had nothing to do with where people lived. It’s tattooed on an old woman’s arm, and it’s from a camp of torture where a lot of people died. And like always, when I visited my grandmother at the nursing home this afternoon, the number hypnotized me.
Oma snored lightly, and my eyes…

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