Kenosha Drucker
Stories (2)
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Lake Palace
Just a little bit further, We’ll stop on top of the next hill, I thought to myself I’ve just got to know what it looks like at the top! Of course, I’d been repeating this refrain to myself for the last twenty minutes, and so far I’d been unable to resist the seduction of the next hill, and the next one... Someone like me didn’t need a will-o’-the-wisp to lure me on, my own curiosity would do just fine. This tendency often led to long, strenuous days, but just as often I’d find myself in places that felt as if you could count on one hand how many pairs of human eyes had gazed upon them in the last century.
By Kenosha Drucker4 years ago in Fiction
LILAC
The only other time I can remember my family camping with a group was when we went with our neighbors long ago, when my brother and I were children. We camped in a meadow surrounded by dense forest. The meadow had a noticeable slope and I remember feeling like we were going to fall off the edge of something. Of course everything remained firmly on the ground. The only other memory I have of this trip is the butterflies. The adults were relaxing, my brother and I were amusing ourselves collecting strange pebbles and leaves, when a cloud of butterflies blew in on a breeze. They were small and of the most delicate shade of lilac, so that if you saw them against the sky they would almost disappear. But the butterfly cloud hovered right above the ground, shivering in the first foot of air, and it stood out in stark contrast against the dirt and grass. It was a beautiful sight, but my brother and I walked right into the cloud and began to stomp, jumping into the air, using our arms to add strength to the jump, smashing the butterflies with all the strength our child bodies could summon. We laughed with glee! In less than five seconds the meadow floor was littered with tiny lilac corpses, as if small pieces of the sky had been shaken loose from our violent stomping. “Stop!” Cried the neighbor. Her cry shook the demon loose and my brother and I came to our senses. We stood still, transfixed by the pretty graveyard at our feet, while the remains of the butterfly cloud quivered around us, and then, just as suddenly as it had arrived, it left. “You should be nice to the butterflies,” she said, and suddenly I felt sad, ashamed. My brother and I exchanged looks that told of mutual confusion at what had come over us. One of us shouted “sorry butterflies!” at the ground, and then we both scurried off in pursuit of more strange pebbles.
By Kenosha Drucker4 years ago in Horror
