THE RUINS

Fifty years later, the hearts of the people buried in the woods grew back as apples. Kasia told me she could hear them beating at night, naked and swinging on their branches. The sound was like a thousand harvest festivals, she said.

She called me on the last night of spring.

“Come here,” she said. “We miss you. Honestly. The apple thing’s really weird. Grandma’s going completely insane. She says she’s hearing voices or something. And Mum’s… Mum’s worried.”

Her voice cracked for a second, and that’s when I realised I no longer knew who my sister was. The Kasia I knew never stuttered. Her first word had been “yes”, and ever since I heard her say it, I’d been jealous of her confidence. Everything she did, every breath she took, was distilled pride.

I didn’t want to come, but I didn’t want to stay in the city,