From Redeeming Grace, my novel in progress.

   I was about to tell that bossy Aileen to leave me alone when the Jenkins family rumbled into view, with all six kids and their goat Lizzie piled into the back of the truck.
   Mrs. Jenkins was driving.  The moonlight shining through the window made her look like a ghost.  Both of her hands gripped the steering wheel, her nose about an inch from her knuckles.  She could barely see over the dashboard.
   Mr. Jenkins stood in the back in his long johns and Sunday jacket, his body leaning over the cab.  He had a shotgun clenched in both hands and looked wildly from left to right, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose.
   We had frozen in place when they came into view, like that statue game we learned to play as children.  Me, Lady Liberty, and a dripping Mrs. Ellis.

From my award winning story, Hawks.

   Half a dozen Viet Cong soldiers erupted from the grass and Toby killed all of them, including the child.  It was just like shooting jackrabbits he told himself.  When the killing was done, he stood over the girl, her small grimy hand still wrapped around the gun, the blood soaked doll on the path beside her.  As the acrid scent of death filled his lungs, Toby realized his decision had been made.

Bellingrath Gardens near Mobile, Alabama