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Weekly Contest #325
(This story depicts systemic ableism and death.) Bare-legged and trembling, I feel the wind in swatches – a pin prickle on the front of my thigh, but a distinct nothingness up the side, where nerve damage paints its way from knee to hip in a river of scar. It doesn’t stop every muscle fiber from shaking. “Do you think we should go for it?” Manny asks, his words jittering out through clenched teeth. He’s also bare-legged, a dirty white T-shirt barely covering his boxer briefs. At least he has flip-flops on. I slide my barefoot forward, over t...
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