I settle in for a wait but it’s only minutes before he appears from the back path with his wheelbarrow of meat. I don’t ask where he gets it. I don’t want to know. I stay still while his panic ebbs, finding someone outside your house is rarely good news. Even when he knows it’s me there is still suspicion. I don’t take offence. I’m that way too. Anyone more trusting isn’t with us anymore, they don’t exist.

Neither of us speak at first. He pushes his wares toward me until he is close enough to whisper. “What are you doing here, Marie?” It tell him what I need and he isn’t pleased. “Just lay low here, sit under a tree.” But even as he says it I can see he knows I won’t. I can’t anyway, I’ll burn even in September sun.

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, December 2, 2014.

Found in Darwin's Ghost - first draft, authored by daisy.