By Angie Dent
Paper / Scissors / Rock!
“My win!” you boast.
Paper / Scissors / Rock!
“Scissors, I win. Decider!”
Paper / Scissors / Rock!
“Rock beats scissors!” I punch the air victoriously as you curl up your clammy scissors and observe the swirling water beneath the old bridge.
“People jump here all the time,” I say, more to convince myself.
Reluctantly, your unsteady limbs scale the rusty rail. Turning to bid farewell, you somehow lose your footing. The unplanned departure hurtles you far left towards the shallow bank. A dull thud instead of a splash. Silty brown sludge morphs crimson.
My fist shakes. Still balled into a rock.
I loved your use of imagery in this story. I went from childhood joy to fear. Very well done.