Tag Archives: short story

The walk back to town was shorter than he remembered. Something about the way the sun was sitting and the slant of the hills, he guessed. His knees protested, but the rest of him was lighter now that he’d gotten a walk in him and some time to think of nothing at all.

He woke the next morning clutching his throat, the pre-dawn sky casting an eerie pink light across the dark room. His eyes ran to the door. The door with the latch. It was closed.

But before he could enter, it started to happen again: the itching, dry, thirsty feeling in the back of his throat, the blood rushing in his ears, his eyes blurred like he was drunk. I’ve only had two beers, he thought, panicked, scratching at his neck trying to get more air in; taking a few steps further and feeling a great weight against him, as if someone was pushing him away from the door.

He pulled back again on his cigarette and flicked it into an old coffee can at his feet. Sat down on the stoop, beer in hand, wondering about all them back home and what they were doing. Wondered what he was doing, now that he’d had a moment to think on it.

He closed the old wooden door behind him, wincing at the long creak it made in the dark quiet of the house. He shivered, putting his shirt back on and drinking the cool air into his parched lungs.