How often our imaginations send us to war.
“Papa. Don’t touch that! ” Eli cautioned, as we made our way up to the fountain that played and gurgled innocently in front of the Creekside Senior Residence. “It’s poisoned!”
One could see the green stuff around the edges and conclude it might just be tainted; but Eli had an eye for danger. I chose not to drink from it. “Good,” He complimented me on my wisdom.
This stop was only part of a journey of discovery as we made our way through a maze of confrontations along tenth street, and into the dark recesses of Shutes Park, two blocks from where I lived.
We were fortunate that we secured our weapons on the way, disguised as fallen tree limbs, as if discarded by earlier bands of warriors. Mine was extremely crooked, but Eli thought it would do. He had a straight one with the bark peeled off. He tested…
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