One afternoon, Alma found Rose sitting on the bathroom floor, staring at a pair of scissors.
They were sisters. Whole. Burning and blooming at last. SI ROSE AT SI ALMA
“You’re burning,” Rose replied. “And I’m tired of being the water.” One afternoon, Alma found Rose sitting on the
Si Rose and Si Alma were sisters, but the town of San Cielo swore they were born from different seasons. her knuckles bruised
Alma came home at midnight, her knuckles bruised, her smile too wide. She had punched a landlord who evicted a single mother from her class. “He deserved it,” she said, pressing ice to her hand.
It was the first crack. Not loud. Just a hairline fracture in the quiet.
Alma knelt. She didn’t take the scissors. She took Rose’s hands instead. Cold. Trembling.