The Orchard After the Blast
Marisol woke to silence. Not peaceful silence—hollow silence. The kind that comes after something breaks. Her cheek rested against cold earth. Damp leaves clung to her hair. The air smelled of apples and smoke. For a moment she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t remember where she was. Then it hit her. The house. The watcher. The accusation. The blast of light and shadow. She sat up too fast. The world spun. Her ears rang. Her throat burned with the echo of the watcher’s voice. La traición… The betrayal… Her heart pounded. “Papá?” No answer. “Ana?” Nothing. “Sofía?” Only the rustle of wind through the orchard. She pushed herself to her feet, legs trembling. The orchard stretched around her—rows of bare trees, branches twisted like reaching hands. The house was gone.
- Writer
