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Weekly Contest #375
At 2:07 a.m. the shoulder of Kamehameha Highway was gravel and old windshield glass, and Kimo was running on it barefoot toward a flashlight that kept jabbing at the oncoming lane. Sonny Akana, from two houses down, was at the hydrant in boxers and one rubber slipper, holding her by the wrist. “She was on the line, brah. Right on it.” Pua was three. Honu pajamas, one sleeve shoved up. She stood with her back to the houses and her face to the water, which at that hour was a sound past the road and nothing else. The Kāne moon was still below t...
Weekly Contest #371
Valerie pulled off at the rest area because the lane markers had started coming in pairs. Twin dashes. Twin reflectors. Two of every green sign, one stacked above the other like a bad translation. Past Richmond, the crying stopped being something she was doing and became something she was having. Like a stomach bug. Waves, then a false calm, then waves. The false calms were the dangerous part. She'd wipe her face on her sleeve, get the Corolla back up to seventy-two, and then a billboard would offer her a Cracker Barrel and her face would...
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