Something lives in the composter.
The last few times I’ve slid back the chamber door to add the scraps, I catch a glimpse of a wet tail slithering a quick get away.
I immediately think lizard. Maybe a skink. Not a worm. Worms would make perfect sense. But worms don’t kick back eggshells while tunneling an exit through the gory glory of decomposition.
I slide the door shut and spin the barrel a couple of times. It comes to rest and I take a look beneath it.
No way out.
Much like the family in my short story, Candid. They come together in celebration of Christmas in a forced sort of captivity and as is so often said about best-laid plans, all goes amuck.
Thank you editor Adam Van Winkle for including Candid as part of Cowboy Jamboree Magazine Issue 7.1 “Buried Child - a Sam Shepard incited issue” 10/26/2021.
Read Candid here.
The odd often relate in ways not easily understood, much like living in a twenty-four- foot-tall flower pot house built on a flower farm in Idaho.
Enjoy the view here.
Happy Holidaze.