My daughters run across the hard-packed sand, their blonde hair—Maureen's hair—streaming out behind them. They are three little replicas of my wife. As always, the worry grips my heart with icy ... [+]
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Italian
Elli scowled at the screen. When the CompuTeach powered on, it was supposed to make the sound. The happy sound; the fanfare that heralded the few delightful hours of her day where she could ask whatever questions she wanted without her mother snapping at her. Elli liked that sound. Today, the sound the machine made was an angry, glitchy buzz, like a bee farting through a steel comb. "Welcome, student," droned the CompuTeach. "Today, we shall start assigned module 314/B, Basic Data Analysis." "You're different," accused Elli. "We begin today's lesson with—" "What happened to the old you?" "I ha