S.E. Presley: Storyteller

The doughnuts sizzled as June lowered them into the grease. This was her favorite time of day: the making. The quiet before the door started opening with faces and voices. She was up before the sun...

It looked like a half-buried shell, but as she dug through the sand around its edges, she found it was something completely different, something she'd never seen before and only existed in stories. She had to be imagining—it simply could not be...

It was that fleeting hour of day when the moon and sun were high and bright at the same time.