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Weekly Contest #17
The moment Mr. Walker said,”amen,” everyone at the narrow dining table fell into a quiet rhythm. Cut. Bite. Drink. “Jenny, will you pass the salt?” Cut. Bite. Drink. “Little hot in here.” Cut. Bite. Drink. “Excuse me.” Cut. Bite. Stab. “Turkey’s dry.” Mrs. Walker’s fork scraped her plate as Jenny took a long swig of water. I leaned over to Jacob. “Was it a fight,” I whispered. “War,” he answered, then swallowed a bite of dressing. I fumbled with the potatoes on my plate and kept my eyes low. Jacob had warned me of the hostility in his family...
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