Kulor

When I was four, my grandparents’ house started sinking into Halfway Bay. It was a slow process, but it started with a bang. I was playing in the front yard when a horrible sound of sliding stone hit me. A four-inch-wide crack had split the ground in front of me, leaving the house separated from the rest of the land. My grandmother was busy removing the blooms from the annuals when the yard split. She jumped up and ran to me when the ground broke. “Are you all right?” she gasped. “Yes,” I said. I was fine. It was grandma that didn’t look all right. Her face was too pale and she was breathing hard. I thought s