The Lake

Excerpt: "I lie down and the scent of iron fills my nostrils. Blood. My blood. I'd know the smell anywhere. The water laps up onto my toes and it tickles and calms me, familiar. I look to the right at a tree stump that's probably older than me. I'm not sure how old I am, but you always tell me that I'm eight. I know it's probably been between ten and fourteen years since then. Not more than fourteen, and not less than ten. I don't know why you keep telling me this. I ask you how old you are as you take roses out of a basket that's sitting on the tree stump. The roses always sit on that tree stump."