more novella

Houses

 

Soon you and I are the only ones who remain. The bus jumps and jerks more insistently as the ground below us changes from smooth black pitch to a potholed map of neighborhood tragedies. The houses are smaller, the weeds are taller.

We pass a house where the entire family sits naked, cross-legged inside a blue plastic kiddie pool.

We pass a house where two English pointers stand trapped, their tails linked by Chinese handcuffs.

We pass a house under a single dark cloud and I wonder if that family has ever been cheerful.

We pass a house that wants to grow arms and legs and choke out the growing dandelions, maybe run away somewhere with less houses.

We pass a house that is not a house, it is a box.

We pass a house that is a tree, we pass a tree that is a tree, we pass a tree.

Suddenly there are trees.

The bus screeches to a slow halt. End of the line.

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