Kelly Peacock

I know how hard it is to care for someone and still know they’re not good for you. You wear the rose-colored glasses as if you’re supposed to, and you let the rest be. 

Gut feelings, guardian angels, spirit guides — whatever you call them, there is something greater and more powerful than us, moving things around in our favor and connecting us to other souls in this Universe through a chain of light.

Whatever is going to happen in this new, twisted anthology will happen, and we are beyond ready.

All I can think about is bodywork, a healing practice for recovery, for undigested trauma. There’s a connection between the mind and the body: our brain remembers moments we want to forget and forgets details we need to remember in order to heal. 

What happens when a group of teenage girls survive a plane crash and become stranded on a deserted island?

Even though I actively tell myself, “Relax. You’re safe,” there is a part of my brain that says “Tense up. You’re in danger.”

Every person who you believed was the one for you will bury themselves into a distilled memory the way they’re supposed to like the way dust settles into the nooks and crannies of our pockets.

The fact of the matter is that healing is supposed to hurt. It’s your heart’s way of telling you “I’m getting better. We’ll be alright.”