In this new place, the branches stretch over our heads, verdant and laden with fruits. We are verdant too, we infants, lighting our candles in a pale imitation of the moon.
We thought we had reached heaven, at first, but we have only reached the next plane of existence. Here, we put down roots and grow with our heads together.
I thought it was God, that light glowing in the water. Instead, it is a fin-tailed woman with a knife in her fingers. As she severs my stalk, she tells me the only way to heaven is down the river.