20 June 2019

Flash Fiction Thursday (or, I’m Too Tired to Write More)

In the bottom drawer, on the day of Big Papa’s funeral, the boy found the pistol, worn shiny bright. He stuck it in the waistband of his goin’-to-town clothes, where it clung to the small of his back in the Georgia heat. Ten years later he was shocked at the loudness of the shot, even though he never heard the scream.

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"Let your laws come undone
Don't suffer your crimes
Let the love in your heart take control..."

-'The Hair Song', by Black Mountain

Tell me what is in your heart...