On the porch, there were pomegranate seeds and paint thinner, and upstairs there was a girl.
People in town always talked about the home. They’d chatter often about the husband and wife who lived there, but the daughter was the main topic of conversation.
They knew she lived in the upstairs rooms, and her parents couldn’t let her out. They knew the girl had something wrong with her, but nobody knew exactly what.
So they’d speculate:
“She has cancer.”
“She’s allergic to everything.”
“If she falls, her bones will break.”
The list of possible maladies the girl had went on for a while. But there was one thing they all knew for certain about the girl.
Every day at noon, the girl opened her bedroom window and spit pomegranate seeds to the porch below. Then, an hour later, her mother would use paint thinner to clean the stains they left in the wood.