Standing and brushing myself off, I round the corner and walk onto the front lawn again, staring at the patch of lawn where Tank body-slammed me. The September breeze kicks up again, sending shivers through my body. I pop two cigarettes between my lips, light them both, and look up at another starless Blaine sky. The street is silent and I feel very alone. After one long drag I toss both smokes onto the grass. Reliving the moment Tank beat me up, I step hard on the cigarettes and watch the orange embers fade to black.

And then, for some reason I can’t explain, I drop to my knees and place my dry palms on the cool grass.

The End

About_the_Author

About the Author

After earning two degrees in American history, Ryan Potter realized he wanted to write about things he made up rather than analyze things that had already happened. The first short story he ever wrote was published in a well-respected online literary journal in 2003. He’s had several stories published both online and in print since.