the monster still sitting on her office roof. “That’s not my truth,” Conor said, his voice shaking. “That’s just a nightmare.”
“Nevertheless,” the monster said, standing, the roof beams of his grandma’s office seeming to sigh with relief,
“that is what will happen after the third tale.”
“Great,” Conor said, “another story when there are more important things going on.”
“Stories are important,” the monster said. “They can be more important than anything. If they carry the truth.”
“Life writing,” Conor said, sourly, under his breath. The monster looked surprised. “Indeed,” it said.
It turned to go, but glanced back at Conor. “Look for me soon.”
“I want to know what’s going to happen with my mum,” Conor said. The monster paused. “Do you not know already?”
“You said you were a tree of healing,” Conor said. “Well, I need you to heal!”
“And so I shall,” the monster said. And with a gust of wind, it was gone.
I NO LONGER SEE YOU
“I want to go to the hospital, too,” Conor said the next morning in the car with his grandma.
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