Charlie Owens, Hunter

Charlie adjusted the windage on the side of his rifle scope. The crosshairs sharpened against his target. He lived for this moment. Deer season could not come too soon nor last too long for Charlie Owens. The smell of the forest, the chill in the fall air, the pressure of the rifle against his shoulder, these things made him free. Continue Reading…

Fresh Lemonade

The Spruce Street lemonade war had been going on for about two weeks. On one end of the block was Tommy Bradshaw, a pudgy pie-faced eleven-year-old, whose hook had been overly sweet lemonade made with simple syrup. His competition, two blocks south was Howie Patterson, whose approach had a much harder lemon bite with a touch of lime. Continue Reading…

GWAT! A Folktale Retold

Deep in the darkest part of the Musty Wood lived a withered hag. The old woman, crooked with the weight of age, spent her days foraging about the damp expanse of the forest floor. The hag wore the hardness of life in her hands. They were callused and scarred with jagged brown nails appointing gnarled fingers. With them she clawed the lowly dark spaces and moist pockets beneath the tree roots. For all her scratching, she was richly rewarded with dank clumps of fungus, mosses and the occasional hapless vole. These meager collections became the bitter stew which was her only sustenance. Continue Reading…

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