The trucker screamed at us as he tried to keep his vehicle straight. Two more bullets skimmed by my head and took out the mirror above me. His horn blew as we drew up along both sides. “Shit!” I turned back around, barely missing the bumper of a semi-truck. Sometimes on summer break they’d stay out after dark and play ghost in the graveyard, head for the hills. They’d sit in the shade, pick at the grass, and tell made-up stories. They’d high five, laugh, and stop for ice cream when the truck came around the corner at the same time every Saturday. I used to watch them play in the streets, kick the ball between the cones, and toss their hands in the air. To, my dark side…for finally being freed. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons-living or dead-is entirely coincidental. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |