Fiction

Four miles down the other side of the hill, Daniel heard a soft rushing further into the woods. After another mile, the sound had grown into a hum and then a rumble, at which point he found himself at the edge of a dark-colored, quick-moving stream

When I read your name on the toe tag, I don’t believe it right away. Then I see your ankle tattoo, faded but still the same shape.

Somehow this had been the first time their house had been tagged with Katherine there. The graffiti had gone quiet every other time she visited, as if the neighborhood understood that an upper-middle-class white lady from a gated community wouldn’t understand tagging even though she sure as shit understood property boundaries.