Saturday 24 October 2015

To Be Freed



I thought I was free.

The ruse had worked, they bought that I’d stolen a boat from the boathouse. By the time I crawled out from the mud underneath it, they must have been miles downstream.

I didn’t bother to clean off the mud, I just threw off what few scraps of material clung to me and began to walk as fast as I could upstream. There was a farmstead over the hill, one that I knew had contacts with the railroad.

Then I heard the crack of a revolver, and pain blossomed across my back.

And I was freed.

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