It had been fourteen days. The painting was gone and with it my heart. Authored by an amateur it had meant more to me than any museum in the world. Each day that passed felt like a relentless excavation into my chest, letting in the outside ice and snow t…

Screams, hundreds of them, howled in waves. Sometimes they joined together in choral unison, almost like a hymn, sometimes in overlapping layers clashing to be heard. It was as if the tortured voices from every hospital and from every war zone that had ev…