Michael Demmendaal
Stories (3)
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Machine Oasis
The orange fire of the dying sun baked the world into a quiet and still submission. Nothing dared move or breathe within miles in any direction. Save a single lone figure. The dust that rose with every footstep lingered in the air for but a moment, then settled back down into leftover tattered footprints. The shoes that tracked their way through the wasted desert fell apart at the seams, small tears revealing the scabbed skin beneath. A carrion bird, nearly as big as the lone figure itself, perched on a nearby rock. The scorching rays of the sun seeped into the cracks of the mind and invaded the peace of the soul. The caws of the circling birds trembled the bones. Each step squeezed the heart a little tighter. And yet, the lone figure walked on.
By Michael Demmendaal4 years ago in Fiction
Dirt Chickens
I was eleven when my friend Isaac looked up from his comic book and asked if I wanted to see a bear. We had spent the day in our tree house, lounging in the warm summer sun, telling jokes and reading comic books. I had nabbed a single cigarette from my mom’s closet, so for a moment we were on top of the world. Below our fort a small stream trickled through the underbrush. Our fort was built in a swamp, on top of the corpse of an old uprooted tree, and all manner of frogs and bugs scurried in the underbrush below us. It was the kind of place a young boy dreamed about.
By Michael Demmendaal4 years ago in Fiction
