by Nia Mahmud

When the treehouse disappeared, I renamed our group chat ‘in mourning’ with a grave emoji. There was barely a trace, but we knew. A Taco Bell wrapper. Little pieces of broken blue-gray wood. Robbie said we might be the only people that care this much. We wandered to the woods, looking for clues. In the kids shows, that’s how it works. Endings aren’t sudden. When you look, answers appear. Instead, up the trail, a deer. A standstill. There’s wariness between us. This is my place, I think I hear him say, are you going to take it from me?