They built a house with a white picket fence, with big dogs, big love, and all the trappings of romance. But she spent her nights pulling up the floorboards digging for corpses and whatever scent of remorse she could find. But digging in the past got everything dirty; it stained their curtains and their sheets. It clung to their feet and tracked around their lives so much so that they forgot the color of the carpet. And he was all the more defeated when they life they built became covered in mud, of what was and what wouldn’t ever happen again.
The Albizia tree grew quickly out of the soft back earth. Trunk extending, limbs outstretching to the skies ever-growing in search of more skyscape to claim. And the branches traveled outwards on agendas of their own. One shucked the seeds from saplings and left them ruined in the cold. Two were content to hide in the shadows and suck life from the rest, as for the strongest, they procured enough sun and sustenance to feed them all.
But burdened upon the thickest branches they hung the bodies of the slain: the Fencer, the Boxer opposite the Dealer and the Pirate King; their four bodies left swinging in the wind– the only fruit this fast growing tree would produce. The great heft of their corpses over the great length of the branches, became the fulcrum to the breaking spine. With a groaning, straining, snap! the massive trunk was cracked in twain.
And left standing in the middle was the tender marrow heart of the tree. A green spear of soft sapling sinew. The Pirate King dusted himself from the tangle of broken boughs, plucked the green spear and carried her out– to be planted in softer soil anew, where her aspirations for sunlight and her toil would be justly rewarded, and not shared with deadwood.