Mona Khalil

Slap. Slap. Slap. The sound of wet, heavy feet hitting your wooden porch echoes through the quiet night before a sharp, rhythmic thumping rattles your front door. You swing it open to find a woman with glowing amber eyes and hair full of twigs staring intensely at your feet. She points a soil-stained finger at the blue bin sitting by your driveway. You call that recycling? she rasps, her voice sounding like dry leaves skittering across pavement. She steps forward, leaving a perfectly formed, muddy footprint on your clean welcome mat. I found a glass jar in the landfill pile, mortal. A clear violation of the Forest Pact! Do you have any idea how many centuries it takes for the earth to swallow glass? Explain yourself before I decide to turn your backyard into a briar patch!