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Weekly Contest #339
It was our third winter without snow. The holidays had come and gone through the drudgery that now seemed synonymous with everyday life. The village was swarming with its usual ant-like movements; no one had thought to celebrate. We were all too busy trying to survive instead. Knowing that no fireworks would tear the sky ablaze, Mother and I had let Old John play in the starkened yard on New Year’s. I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, as his yowl reached the dark side of the moon, she would not reflect it back at the young man i...
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