A Pit-Stop in Georgia

I’ve been running this blog for a year now. I’m not extremely happy with how much content I’ve put into it at this point, but just like my writing it’s something I’m figuring out as I go along. Or at least I hope I’m figuring it out.

I submitted a story to Apex Magazine’s microfiction contest Stealing The Spotlight for Halloween. The results came and went and I was not among them. I don’t do much microfiction and she’s a tough beast to slay, so I can’t say I’m particularly surprised I didn’t place. I can’t think of anything else I can possibly do with the story, other than at some point use it as the beginning or concept for another, longer piece. In celebration of a year of blogging I’m going to post it here.

A Pit-Stop in Georgia

I pull into an old country store, the kind with a rusted Coke sign, and gas pumps gone unused since the Carter Administration. Dust still hangs in the air as I step out. I check my appearance in the side mirror and adjust my tie. I ‘m driving a black Lincoln Town Car with dark, tinted windows. I see out. No one sees in.

The store has history. Aged hardwood floors that add an other-worldly atmosphere, like stepping back in time. My bones ache from the drive and I hope a quick pit-stop will give me a boost. A man weathered with age greets me as I enter. “Howdy, stranger. Anything you’re looking for?”

“Afternoon. Just stretching my legs. I admired your store so I wanted to take a look.”

He tells me the history of the place, how his wife died a few years back, and what his kids are doing down in the big city. Despite his age his eyes are youthful and innocent. Reflections of his soul. He meets the gaze of my dead, soulless eyes. I see out. No one sees in.

I brush his hand with mine. His eyes reflect unyielding pain. It’s my gift. I suck in the last breath of his soul and head to my car with energy for the rest of my trip. A pit-stop was just what I needed.


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