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Weekly Contest #328
Sammy opened her eyes to rain-slick brick and the sour smell of alley garbage. For a heartbeat, she wasn’t in her bed-she was crouched in a narrow passage off Cherry Street, Macon, Georgia, heart pounding like a trapped bird. The she was back, gasping, soaked in cold sweat, her small, tight curls damp against her forehead. Sammy was Black, in her early twenties, with warm brown skin, sharp eyes that held both curiosity and quiet grief, and a close-cropped afro. The first time it happened, she was thirteen. One moment she was in the math clas...
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