A Dark and Stormy Night
“It was…a dark and…stormy night,” Lydia muttered under her breath as she meticulously pressed each letter on the clunky keyboard. She reveled in the satisfying click clacks the sound of her typing made, proud that it sounded more and more like her mom’s did—a quick, confident staccato—and less like the clumsy measured pace she first kept when she started to learn at seven. Lydia was eight now, and infinitely more capable.