By Jason Ziemniak
We’d play in the forest behind her daddy’s place when we were kids. Before her mom tied herself to a tree and set the field on fire.
Her knees were dirty from crawling under the trailer looking for the dog.
I didn’t touch her, didn’t say anything. Only silence and something that felt a lot like guilt.
Later, I’d say that we were in it together but that’s a lie. The only thing we shared was a tunnel with no light, a mouthful of dirt, and a thousand green things that grew over us because they knew we wouldn’t get up.
That opening paragraph is a killer, so intriguing! But I am confused by the last part, wondering what happened. It needs a bit more. I know it’s so hard to do in just 101 words
I love the imagery in the last paragraph. Well done!