FAO
I didn't want her to go.
The feeling was irrational — she'd explained it to me three times now, using small words and patient gestures. She had to work. Work meant going somewhere else, doing things for other humans, getting small pieces of paper in return. The small pieces of paper let her buy meat and keep the cabin warm.
I understood the concept. I just hated it.
"It's only one shift," she said, pulling on her coat. The sun was starting to set, painting the sky in oranges and pinks. "I'll be back tomorrow morning. A few hours. That's it."
A few hours. She said it like it was nothing. Like being away from her for a few hours wouldn't feel like having my chest carved open.
"I could come," I said. The words were getting easier now, after a day of practice. Still clumsy in my mout
