After the accident, the entire area, for a 10-mile radius, was paved over in concrete, so the buildings looked semi submerged coming out of the ground. Even the dead bodies of the trapped locals were covered. Wasteland was an abandoned concrete tomb.
Charlie made soap for a living and owned three shirts. He smelled like potential.
Here she was, in the dead of night.
In one of the safest neighbourhoods in the city.
Eye-to-eye with an unflinching and mythically large coyote.
This was not a coyote-sized coyote.
“We have reason to suspect that you being a… a witch… could present an unlawful advantage. Our lawyers suggest we grant you leave until we decide what’s in the best interests of the company.”
She had the right to remain silent. Accused of having unlawful advantage by a room full of the richest executives in the city, the irony gently wafting over their hair plugs like cheap, knock-off perfume.
She peered through the dirty glass. Like the other aquariums, it was empty too. No water. No fish. Just Hugo’s secrets and conversational skills.
She didn’t plant the sunflowers, they just sprung out of the ground a few months earlier. So, she took it as a sign. A gift from the Universe, she called it.
And now, a murder of crows were looking at her sunflowers and their seeds with hungry eyes.
“Perhaps we can strike a deal?” she said.
Follow My Blog
Get new content delivered directly to your inbox.