After the Whipping
A boy stands knee-deep on heron-thin legs, stung skin numbing now, as stars prick creek water sliding slow, slow beneath him. Across the meadow, his house is burning.
When he finally looks up — having almost outrun the sound of the front porch door banging like a rifle shot behind—flames illuminate the rope swing he’s just flown past and thick smoke billows into a harvest moon, a great big zero, now, just clearing the ridge.
But what echoes still, are the last words his father, belt in hand, would ever utter: “Stop crying like a baby, son, and take it.”
Photo Credit: Megan Skelly
A great story. The begining pulled me in and made me interested in what was going to happen. It was very descriptive and intriguing.
This is a superb piece of writing.
Stunning and resonant. The heron legs, the zero moon…such vivid imagery. And one helluva ending. Superbly done!
I appreciate that, Lynn!
This is a powerful piece of writing and it brings the moment alive.
Thank you, Derek!