The cult in the snowThere is a kind of cold that belongs to Canada alone. It gets into the bones and stays. Men build strange things in that kind of weather. Some build cabins. Some build churches. Some build little secret empires in basements and rented houses, where the curtains stay drawn and the lights stay low and the truth never sees a window

IF THEY KNEW THEN WHAT THEY KNOW NOWThey laughed in the smoke and drank cold, cheap beer and wine. Slapped each other on the back. Thought it was over. Thought they’d won.It was the kind of laughter that’s loud because it hides fear. It always has.The three women were clever. Or they thought they were. Sharp tongues. Dull hearts. Witches, black

"As God's most powerful Earth Angel, I don’t have time to sugarcoat the truth. The truth is powerful, it’s raw, and it’s the only thing that can heal the soul—no matter how hard it is to swallow."It is curious how the left, with all the arrogance of a stubborn mule, can look upon the right and criticize them for trying to right the wrongs t