Remains of an Old WorldBy Blaize M Kaye
THE FENCE behind the vegetable rows was ruined. Posts shattered, chain link bent and torn outwards, rolls of barbed wire unfurled. I was looking for Jana; I thought she might be at the fence again, though Dad had forbidden her from being there.
He’d found her just three days earlier, leaning up against the rough weave of the chain link, wearing her blue dress, and watching the desert. What he hadn’t known was that she’d been at that spot every day for nearly a week, looking out at the sand and barely moving.
I’d heard him screaming at her, voice-cracking screams about drivers and the desert and propriety and keeping her eyes from the horizon. Jana had struggled to keep her balance as Dad dragged her roughly back to the kitchen. When he got her ins
