Secrets an interrogation

by Emily Tom Illustrated by Grace Pinsonault

Here the stars are bright and begging, like pennies at the bottom of a well. Here the trees are green, even in the heart of winter, for here the winter does not exist. Here I feel hidden, tucked away into a pocket of the night. We are so far from the city, from the lights, from the highway. It is the first time I have been somewhere so empty. Outside, the roots rustle. Wild chickens scratch at dead leaves. They have been doing this all night. The first time they did, the sound startled us so much that we reached for each other. But now we are used to it, the same way we are used to sharing a bed, laying side-byside like two halves of an equals sign. We lie there like little kids, giggling.