The dead girl hung upside down over our kitchen table.
Ropes dug into her ankles as she swayed from the chandelier. Blood traced a line from the familiar cut across the palm of her hand to one of her delicate fingertips. The drop quivered before joining the little puddle headed for my twin’s cereal bowl. I pulled it out of the way, sloshing rice milk and granola onto the table.
This is a re-read. I read this book in the month October in the year of 2012. So did I love this book as I did back almost 3 years ago? Yes, yes I did. I only remembered some stuff, and at times I felt like I knew more than I wanted, but most of it has luckily faded away. Phew!