The Bluestone Review 2020

The Bluestone Review 2020

Prose

The bitterness in his voice stings. “Wait!” I almost regret the words as soon as they come out of my mouth. “I’ll come with you.” “I thought you’d come around,” he says and spins to look at me. “When should we leave?” If I go home, I’ll never leave. Ever. “Today. Now.” He holds out a hand, and I take it. I drop the quilt on the bank of the creek.

The Fog By Maddison Miller

As I looked ahead of me, a massive wall of fog stood before me. It seemed to give off this cold negative energy that made me dread walking through it. The aura that it gave off immediately made me think the worst. It brought my deepest fears into all of my thoughts. I just knew that if I tried to cross through, I would never find my way out, and I would die alone and scared of what was going to be around the next corner. If I didn’t try to cross through, I would be letting down everyone I loved, especially the ones who looked up to me. This wall was, what seemed to be, my greatest challenge yet. Finally, I shook myself out of the state of pure terror that I had allowed the fog to put me in. I took a deep breath and willed myself to move towards the wall. As I approached the wall of fog, I could feel the coldness seeping into my clothes, and I couldn’t help but to shiver. By then, I was just inches away from the menacing fog. It was so thick that I couldn’t tell what was on the other side. It could have been a cliff that was a straight drop to spiky sharp rocks; it could have had a hideous monstrosity on the other side; or it could have contained what everyone fears: a pitch black, empty void. A distant force seemed to resur- rect me from yet another fear-invoked trance. As I took a last longing look at the safety of my car, I took a step into the fog. Cathead Biscuit By Fred M. Powers That day I was making haste across the mountain ridges towards home. Hav- ing just passed the knoll of the second ridge, I spotted the top of the cinder block sand house that was at the far boundary of the small side-holler where we lived in a three-room shanty in a coal camp. I was almost eight, and this was the last year of the 1880’s. My ‘pap’ had warned my younger sister Thomasena and me never to go past it because of hidden dangers away from the camp... My parents were going to visit down at “Pee Wee’s house” on that Saturday, located beside Elkhorn Creek, then go on to the nearby company store to get groceries about two miles further down our mountain. They were usually gone for half a day, but Dad’s co-hand loader and friend was gone himself. They arrived home early. Dad had borrowed his brother Less’ mule to put the supplies

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