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Weekly Contest #361
The morning of the final day broke in a color that wasn’t quite light and wasn’t quite dark, a bruised, heavy violet that sat low over the tree line of Laurel Ridge. Inside Cabin 4, the air was a thick sediment of the last eight weeks: the vinegar tang of damp towels that never fully dried, the chalky dust of tracking clay from the tennis courts, and the faint, citrusy sting of bug spray that had settled into the pine floorboards like a varnish. I lay perfectly still in the top bunk, my chin pressed against the rough wool of my camp blanket,...
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