“p-pink!”

        anya points at the older, pink haired girl with a short, stubby fingers. her green eyes are wide open, staring intensely at the blues of the girl near her. one can almost see the gears turning in anya’s little head in the moments of silence that precede a sudden--

        “big sis!” 

with a brightly blushed face, perhaps due to some embarrassment, anya takes small, tiny steps to bring herself closer to the older girl (who she doesn’t know, but has already felt connected). 

        “my name is anya.” 

she introduces herself eagerly, even pointing to herself to make sure the older girl understands what she’s trying to say. 

the poor goose honks as it walks through the cold streets. where’s the grass? where’s the little boy it liked to chase? where’s the gardener and his radio? the goose cranes his neck, honking quietly, looking at the strange, unknown buildings as it walks. 

it stops in front of a young girl. it honks once, dark eyes blinking as it looks at the person in front of it. it honks once more and then...

it extends its neck, quickly grabbing the shiny long thing the girl had in her hands. it doesn’t know what it is...