Photo Story: The Dare

Blister heat, sunstroke heat. Melted tar, fried egg heat. T-shirt stuck to the small of my back heat, bunched wet and sour under my armpits heat.

Nothing to do but swap dares heat.

My sister chewed the spent end of her popsicle stick. “Run down the street naked.”

Our neighbors were outside. Our mother was watching us from an open bedroom window. I shook my head. My sweat sprayed her sunglasses.

But I didn’t say “No.” I said, “Later.”

Blister cold, windburn cold. Cracked windshield, black ice cold. Chattering teeth cold, chapped asscheeks cold.

“Go,” my sister dares. I run.

 

Photographer: Roman Kruglov