Jana Clancey
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Landslide
Nora Jane had roughly eight minutes to get to Bradley Creek for her final waterway sunrise. Luckily, the tide just finished spilling in, obscuring the ugly reality of pungent tidal muck and skin-slicing oyster beds slumbering below the surface. She stood, an arm slung over the open driver’s side door of the vintage Volvo V70 station wagon, looking at the brick colonial, an asylum she’d despised since the For Sale sign came down two decades earlier. Her aging coonhound, Mr. Jenkins, gawked from his post at the picture window, head tilted, clearly confused as to why the car was filled with belongings, why the hatch wasn’t open, and why he was being left behind in a quiet, dark house. The boy, a first year college student, would have been devastated to learn they were both gone. The dog would stay.
By Jana Clancey5 years ago in Humans
