It was only after the world ended that I saw my friend again. We fought while everything was intact. My friend was older than my sister. She was more peace-loving than a tree. She believed everyone’s goodness, even the people who wanted nothing but mulch for her. I knew better. One day, she told me she couldn’t trust me if I didn’t trust. I didn’t.
When the world cracked open, rubies poured out of its egg: when I put them in hot oil, my friend danced, mornings ago. I stepped over the rubies in the street. I didn’t hug my friend though I saw her. Is it wrong I would do everything the same as I did it? Her nose bled rubies into her mouth. Once, I called. We spoke.
