“Once, when we were all much older, we went back to the creek. Abuelo didn’t come with us that time, since the trek and the ordeal of watching over a pack of swamp monster children had become a more difficult task as the years went on. The rope was still there, and we swung in just as always. The rest of the creek was oddly smaller and shallower – we all puzzled over the fact that we remembered it as so big, when really it was barely a puddle.”
by Julia Goodman
