Mint is so hard to kill

Does anyone want a young apple tree? I have too many.

She said this, even though she had killed rhubarb and mint. The boy she had brought with her played on the floor among leaves the colour of burnt paper. He had no shoes and a purple bruise on his forehead, but none of us mentioned this. 

I shall transplant them and hand them out in August. She sipped the cranberry juice that wasn't just cranberry juice and her eyes glazed to a dull sparkle as night settled on the land as thick as ash. Someone asked her how long she planned to stay and she laughed, quickly covering her mouth with one bandaged hand as though the sound smelt foul.

Until the insurance is all used up. Another laugh, this one racking her chest like a cough. The boy began to chew the leaves and I wished there were a pair of shoes somewhere in the house small enough to fit him.

We never did get to taste the apples.