The Local Gods of Epoh

The monsoon came on, but any rain that fell was as warm as sweat. A lone surviving palm could be seen in the distance, its crown of leaves bobbing in the dirty air. Noise and damp permeated the old bungalow, as Trina blew into the dead girl’s mouth, knowing it was useless. Chest compressions had done nothing and the girl’s half-closed eyes were vacant. There’d been no way to call an ambulance. Trina’s son, Sammy, had taken their one working phone to coordinate his night’s adventures. Breathing again into the girl’s mouth, Trina tasted strawberries, probably from the girl’s lip