A child walked next to me through a garden.
Flowers send their fragrance wafting into the nostrils.
“What’s that?” The child asks.
“It’s the thin thread in which survival hangs.”
“Why is it so thin?” He asks as we stop to pick from a
I shrugged my shoulders after eating a bleeding red berry.
“Should we make it stronger?” He asked in pure curiosity.
“What happens when it snaps?” He asked. For it was taut and shaking.
“I guess we all die.” I looked to him for help.
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