Question after question
February 6, 2013I don’t have an answer, she said. She sat on the grass among scattered leaves, and she just kept coming up with question after question.
She folded one of the leaves in her palm, but when she opened her hand again, it had cracked in half, some of the edges pulverizing into dust that settled into her health line. She brushed the leaf and its detritus away and settled onto her back, staring up at the nearly-nude branches above.
Does it really matter what I say? She had long stopped looking in his direction, after all.
100 Proof 
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