• My mother always said death was a spinning wheel, like the colored one on Wheel of Fortune, a beautiful angel would spin it, each color filled with every name on earth. Whoever the spinner landed on, would die, and every year you got older, your spot got bigger. She told me this drying my wet cheeks, "That's why grandpa died, he had a big spot. It was time."

    I had come to accept it, but did the angels really decide who died of hunger and murder with a spinning wheel?

    That wasn't right, dead was more like the spinning wheel Sleeping Beauty pricked her finger on, it wasn't that she didn't know what she was doing, it was just that it has to happen. Death was the same way, an unexplainable conclusion that was inevitable.