Cristal Brawley and Amy Souza

Cristal Brawley
Response

Tourist Town
By Amy Souza
Inspiration piece

They haven’t solved the murder, Judy tells me. No one knows what happened but they assume the boy rode out and saw something he wasn’t supposed to and so the culprit shot him dead, straight through the chest with a thirty-aught-six rifle. Spared the horse.

Judy helped search. As a child, she’d learned tracking from her Native friends. Her husband of twenty-eight years recently left for a woman less than half his age and now they are expecting a baby. “What’s he going to do with a baby?” she says. Judy can’t sleep.

In the bed of a truck across the street, a dog sprawls atop a long metal tool chest and stares our way. Judy resembles the town—ragged and unwelcoming. There’d been beauty there once.

At night I dream of the boy with a hole through his heart, lying prone in a wide field, grasses swaying. Two turkey vultures circle above, land a few feet from the body, poised. I want to shoo them away, but I’m only a figment so the boy lies there alone while the scavengers wait.

 

——————————————————
Note: All of the art, writing, and music on this site belongs to the person who created it. Copying or republishing anything you see here without express and written permission from the author or artist is strictly prohibited.

Post a Comment

Your email is never published nor shared. Required fields are marked *

*
*

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>