Flash Fiction - Industrial Fantasy
Jack dragged the corrugated sheet metal over the lean-to, for armor against the sun.
This attracted game, a young girl from the city ruins.
Amora's eyes didn't beg for life when he leveled the rusty spiked pole to them.
"Plant these herbs here."She whispered. "They trade well with the gangs. At the drip line of the roof." Jack bent. "Show me."
Gangers could smell the flowers. Shacks grew with green garlands. Guns metamorphed into tools. Trees manifested; sudden sawlogs.
The old Jacks' pass the founder’s monument of they and their child, borne on wood grown between their home and their graves.