Tamon hadn’t been away for long, but he had gone very far, about as far away from this place as you could get.  Where he went, the waters were a soft green and the skies were huge and the kind of blue you can only find in a crayon around here.  Where he went, the forests were thick and lush and filled with amazing creatures, the mountains were sharp and it was hot at the bottom and cold on top, and the land met the ocean in soft places.  

Sand...kids know enough to crave it.  The sand here shares a big plastic bin with die-cast cars and clumps the cat left.  Tamon said the sand there was perfectly smooth and white here and there.

When Tamon returned, he didn’t bring his whole self back.  His mother would say that his mind was a million miles away when he’d sit on that lumpy couch and stare out the window.  I’m not sure if the window had anything to do with it or not.  Maybe he just stared that direction because that’s where the sun was.  He always smiled at the light and frowned at the darkness.

His mind wasn’t all he left in that beautiful place.  The tip of his index finger was gone.  It shocked his friends and family when they first noticed, and thier reactions surprised Tamon, as though they were mentioning a haircut he had forgotten about.  He waved his nub and smiled, shrugging.  What can you do?

There were no doctors in the family, but it didn’t take one to see that the cut hadn’t been a clean one.  It was ugly and discolored.  Burned so that the small scar ridges overlapped.  When it heals it might resemble a tiny brain at the end of his knuckle.

Whenever anyone asked what happened, it was the same, “A small sacrifice.” he would reply, and change the subject. Often the subject was____