finnfiles
This is the summer of my fifth grade year, a moment when my siblings and I play with the dog, sit out in the sun, eat icecream, go to the beach. It is not a summer to think about the bully who will be waiting for me as I approach the schoolhouse on that first day on Sept 4.
When I wake up early at 8am my dog barks.
When I wake, and I look out over that desolate landscape of sand and shrub, I wonder if I have just left or entered my dreaming.
The deadly mushrooms were covered in the tiniest of phosphorescent blotches that the natives would pick off tenderly and add to the soupy concoction. The liquid turned black, then green, then brown and became gooey.
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