The Tree Is Stung by Bees

On Sunday morning, there was no annais. She did not come in. Did not even call to say she wasn't coming in. My supervisor complained my cubicle felt lonely. And the face of the little girl looked down at me in accusation. There when after work, i walked all the way to the little grove of laurels and cypresses,. The vanagan was, of course, gone. It was clear that child had not come in that day. I grew so concerned i could hardly sleep. After a few days of standing on the street watching, i summoned the courage to go into the day care - which smelled like paste and piths an crackers. They