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Weekly Contest #377
Near Jucuarán, El Salvador The bag struck her leg at every step. He kept moving aside for it, then coming back. She was too close to the ditch. Earth broke under her shoes, and each time it did he pressed nearer, wanting her on the firm part of the road. Usually she spoke to him before the first bend. Sometimes she held her hand low and let the backs of her fingers brush his head. Tonight that hand gripped the bag. Her other hand pressed something cold against her mouth. At the bend she stopped. He lifted his nose toward her knee. Blood was ...
Tucumán, Argentina, 1935 On his first evening at the mill, Julián found a thumbprint where a man’s signature should have been. He turned the receipt toward the desk lamp. The ink had spread through the whorls, leaving a black oval beside the amount, but whoever prepared the payment had carefully written the man’s name beneath it: Juan Cáceres. “He couldn’t write?” Julián asked. The foreman, Rodrigo Martínez, stood at the open window, tapping ash from his cigarette onto the sill. Across the yard, men were unloading sugar cane beneath the fact...
Weekly Contest #376
The water went into the ground, but it did not go away. He crouched where the stream narrowed beneath the roots, he had followed it here before. Beyond the roots was a black opening too small for his shoulders and behind that opening the water struck metal. He could hear it falling. When he pressed a hand into the mud, the sound traveled up his arm. Farther down, he listened as something turned without stopping. He withdrew his hand. There should have been deeper water beyond this place. He expected the stream to widen and the trees to draw ...
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