sera // d6 // cbd3

[ines izar d11a 🖤 cait]

Here’s the way it goes:

Your parents leave you on the doorstep of an orphanage in the middle of an Autumn night thunderstorm, like something straight out of a sad gothic movie. You spend a few years there, get moved along. Spend a few years in a group home, get the life sucked out of you. Run away, spend a few months on the streets, almost die in the Winter chill. Crawl back to a warm bed that doesn’t want you anymore, get moved along. Spend a few years in a final foster home, turn eighteen, get chucked back out onto the streets again.

You don’t ask questions about why you were dealt this unfair hand. You know you won’t find any answers. It’s just about surviving.

Ironic.

It was Izzy’s idea. You just happened to be the one caught in the crossfires of her fucked up plan. She spent weeks convincing you, as if she didn’t already know you’d go to the ends of the earth with her. Truth was, you were both desperate. You knew what would happen if the money dried up, if the last crumbs of stale bread were consumed too quickly.

You don’t know how she got involved. You don’t ask.

You don’t know what they need the bodies for. You don’t ask.

All you have are callouses on your palms and a rusted spade; the lingering scent of geosmin on your clothes and a girl who insists on keeping plants alive just to balance out all of the death you unearth, pulling on your hand, telling you to keep running.

You don’t ask what happens if you’re caught.

[k!ah]

if I tell her the plants are still alive, would that help??