Miles Gibson
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Stories (2)
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Possession.
Part 1 Moss is softer, quieter in the rain. The boy’s shoes made no sound as he stepped into the clearing. Above him swayed a ring of black pines, the highest losing form as they met the heavy clouds. It was not dark. Two beams shot through the forest, making bars on the moss where shadow hit the ground. The boy stayed behind the bars as he stepped forward. The truck was audible now, it’s idling engine puttering above the sound of rain on pine. The boy lowered himself in line with a downed tree beside the road. The truck was empty. In the distance, the boy could make out the hazy silhouettes of two men and a dog. One held an umbrella, the other, a flashlight. They scanned the trees. The boy slid over the log and, crouching, began to make his way across the wide dirt road.
By Miles Gibson5 years ago in Fiction
Shimmering Point
Fish-catcher felt it punch into his foot, wedging through the soft flesh of his arch to be stopped by one of the cuneiform bones behind his middle toes. Pain licked up his calf, like fire on the tendons. He tripped, crashing forward mid-sprint towards the riverbed below. In a glimpse, he saw his quarry, a silver perch, shoot away into the reeds, then his head connected with a stone.
By Miles Gibson5 years ago in Fiction
