Instead of Going Home
2 I want to go home. Instead, I sit in the high back chair next to the window, looking out at the small duck pond. It’s the last thing before the woods, just past the little green shed, but it’s frozen this time of year and all the ducks have gone south without it. Two months have passed since the first snowfall, five since Mr. Adad’s dog went missing, and fourteen since we first got here.
Behind Granny’s house, I see all kinds of fantastic creatures. She has a stone fountain with an archer boy in it, and around that a patch of marigolds bloom, tall grass goes to the end of the garden, where taller flowers stand, like green men in strange and wonderful hats.
A Loan Shark
The broad who comes in about quarter to six has short blonde hair and this scar that runs all around her right thigh, puncture marks dotted in the shape of a massive crescent, and I know immediately that it’s a bite mark. And I made it.
We Are Awake
One of the giant, black towers comes up above the treeline, dark as a finger of coal and riding up to the clouds in the corner of the man’s eye—a phantom—but he focuses on the deer at the end of his ironsights. Right now there is a headwind, so the animal can’t smell him, and it can’t see him either because it is busy eating mushrooms.