Bailey Glashan

Things Get Better

It was a choked cry followed by the soft thump of a feathered body dropping on concrete. I peered into the dark, beyond the yellow light of the front porch, beyond the cement slab front yard, beyond the chain link fence but it was too dark. Too dark. Too dark. I squinted, and the darkness morphed into a pit of rot and sin, and I knew that if I looked a second longer, it would swallow me whole.