The Places You Go When You’re Alive
I walked into the kitchen and peered through the sliding door. Brad stood on the deck. The night had sucked him into a time machine that spit him back out looking more worn and tired than ever before. He rubbed his face and held a jack knife in his right hand. The kind my father used to carry when he hunted. The blade faced the outside of his thigh and he blinked wildly.
Fiction by Sarah Walker