Mansfield
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Sometimes the thing that holds you together ends up causing the most damage . . .
A gasp of air seemed to slice through Anika on its way in, and she quickly backtracked so that the emission wouldn't give her away. Desperately casting her eyes about for something else to focus on—anything else—Anika took in the scene around her. Atop the hay-strewn ground the summer grass was a tender green, naive blossoms just poking their heads out to see if winter had finally passed. If it was safe to come out. Those innocent blooms didn't know how cruel life could be. They didn't know that life sometimes lurked in the shadows, waiting for you to decide the coast was clear before pouncing.
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Anika leaned back against the barn, flattening her hands against its splintered solidity. She'd always loved old barns: their reliability, their timelessness, their constancy. No matter what they looked like on the outside, peeling or freshly painted, crumbling or just constructed, you always knew what you were getting; a barn was still a barn.
If only people were the same.
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