We let the thistles prick our fingers to make them bleed, because they made us feel alive.
Then we spoke about our dreams and how we always felt safe in them, no matter how bad everything else seemed. He told me it was one of the best days of his life and then he took out his gun. A .22 rifle. And he leaned forward and whispered ‘Forgive me, Taylor Markham.’ Before I could ask him how he knew my name and what I was to forgive him for he said, ‘Take care of my little girl.’
And then he told me to close my eyes.
And I think I’ve been frightened to do just that, ever since.