Somme Sketcher

“Suicide is a sin,” he rasps, his stubble grazing my cheek. “But Devil’s Dip has a way of making you want to throw yourself over the edge, doesn’t it?”

Angelo Visconti isn’t a knight in shining armor, he’s a monster in an Armani suit.

Life is all about balance, Angelo. The good always cancels out the bad.

No matter what romantic prose is chiseled into a marble headstone, true love doesn’t exist. It’s nothing but hope in a different form. A concept for the poor and the powerless to latch onto when there’s nothing else.

Seek hope where the air is salty and the cliffs are steep.

If I was to…jump. What would it feel like? Would it hurt? Would everything go black? I don’t believe in God, or heaven and hell, but I wonder—would I still scream a confession as I broke the surface of the water, in a last-bid attempt to save my soul?

I guess life doesn’t always pan out the way you want it to.

Girls with the biggest smiles harvest the darkest secrets.

“Men. Everything is a damn exchange to you. News flash—when a woman wants something from you, she shouldn’t always have to pay with her body. Whatever happened to a good old-fashioned favor?

Our special game bonded my brothers and I together like glue. While the locals called us the Angel’s of Devil’s Dip, they didn’t know that we were the judge, jury, and executioners of this town too, and throughout our teens we buzzed with our secret power.