Leaning: A Short Story
My brother made me write this. I think he wants to teach me to work hard. To train for the future. This should help me gain the endurance needed for the marathon that is authorship. I guess short stories are little one-mile spurts – I can do this.
On my own mark.
Everything was dark. Browns and blacks burrowed into the borders of the yard weaving a cage of bleakness. Around me. Everything around me. Everything leaned in. Around me. Unreal shadows hid the sun from my eyes and cooled the dirt beside me. That dirt.
There was nothing special about that dirt – not anymore anyway. It was just dirt. But it hurt. Why did it hurt? I couldn’t, wouldn’t, shouldn’t remember. It was just dirt. But it hurt.
I was so young. I didn’t understand…
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