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Weekly Contest #349
Today is April 31. That’s what the breeze-torn calendar says, pinned to a tilting wooden post with a hunting knife. A dark red streak cuts through the black ink of the thirty-one. I take a second look.Juan and I came up from the river. The muddy rot follows us. A few blocks away and it’s still clinging in my nose.Daylight drops fast. I blink and it’s gone.I look around. Something’s off.Time doesn’t move right here. It lingers. Hangs in the air like a dark stormy cloud waiting to break.Juan tells me to give him an hour. Then he disappears int...
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