shot glass
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

Chris Bays

Page 1 | 2

Barns Leaning into the Wind

I am driving down a country road when a dark figure stumbles across my headlights. Slamming my brakes, I skid to a stop, just a foot away from a man-boy wearing a torn T-shirt and jeans. He is disheveled, almost skeletal. He slams his hands on my car hood, stares at me, eyes like Vantablack – blackest of black – and for a moment I am lost in his world, barefoot, running across a field of snow, running from who he was or wants to be. I jump when he slams my hood again. He leans toward me. Red dots and bruises run up and down his pale arms. I gun my engine. He curses, jumps across the ditch, and scuttles into the dark.