Coming back home was a mistake. I knew it the moment I boarded that train. I knew it as soon as I stepped back into that house, greeted by dozens of blank, unwelcoming stares. But I didn’t have much choice in the matter, did I?
I stumbled upon a proposition. It was an idea so stupid, so idiotically presented that it couldn’t possibly work but it also couldn’t possibly not be tested.
It's an age-old problem: How can I be original in a sea of content? How can I possibly create a new, fresh idea when all the good ideas seem to be taken? Or, worse yet: What can I do to prevent my original idea from appearing in some other story before I'm finished writing it?
Coyote Songs is a revenge story. It's many stories, of the horror of living and the injustice of surviving beneath the ever-present boots of colonizers. It is an epic, a tale of cultures clashing against la frontera in an eternal struggle that seems destined to repeat itself without ceasing.
“Hey lady!” The figure called out as they bridged the gap, coming close enough that Evelyn could almost make out human features. “Hey, I wouldn’t go that way if I were you. Some messed up shit back there.” It was a kid, a teenage boy, probably not even old enough to vote. He was walking fast now, just a little short of jogging, hood over his head, his face shadowed as he got closer.