The tree’s question started with a clear plastic bottle. One of those liter containers of “mountain spring water” people buy from a gas station cooler for $1.99.
The brown-haired girl poured two bottles of Aquafina into the hole she’d dug at the base of its trunk.
“But, Molly, Poppa Chris isn’t leaving. He’s not like—” the boy said, hesitating nearby.
“The water’s for the faeries,” Molly cut in. “Just like Poppa Chris, sometimes they need help keeping their promises…”
Surreal, shadowy, sensual, satirical lit. Dragging the future back through the past, like a rotting donkey on a grand piano.