he can't be. he will call.
The family visits two psychics and an elder. one says he will call soon, one says he is dead, one says he is travelling north.
Words evaporate, condense in the air, drip down walls.
Her stepfather tells everyone his son is dead, and he isn't going to look anymore.
Her mother moves wide and slow, almost imperceptible, limbs floating as if in water.
The girl walks under winter naked elms, such a cold November, a season warmer then her house.
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