By Edward Lerner
My head hurts. I expect it: this is winter. I want it to be spring.
Paradise does not ask what I want.
The winter is young, and I think the dogs are not yet so hungry as to attack me. Still, I hold tight to my spear. Dogs or no dogs, the spear helps me walk through the knee-deep snow.
Only trees show above the snow, and I do not know what is under. In winter, asleep, the plants cannot scream when I step on them.
Because they are asleep, Father told me. Long ago. Before Mother died. Before I left home. I did not understand what he meant. I do not now.
I think Father is gone, too. “Watch the flag,” Father told me, long ago, pointing at the tall pole that stood near Ship. “I will change the flag every day. Unless … I can’t. Then you must come. You must.” (Continue Reading…)