Jonas

My mouth was dry.

I couldn't even swallow.

Then I felt it.

The cot shifted, just slightly, like someone had eased down onto the other end.

I didn't think.

I just moved.

Rolled off the cot, grabbed the axe, and yanked the door open.

I ran, barefoot through the cold, stumbling over roots and rocks.

I didn't stop until I saw a marked porch light glowing between the trees.

My feet were bleeding by the time I got there, and I couldn't get the words out for a solid minute.

When I finally told him what happened, he didn't laugh, just handed me a towel and told me to sit down.

We went back the next morning.

The trailer door was still latch.

Everything looked pretty normal, but inside the house, Melbourne, like singed hair and plastic, and carved into the wall above the cotton jag letters was a single word, stay.

I didn't.

I packed my things that same afternoon, tossed everything into the truck bed, and didn't look back.

And that is the end.

Thank you for listening, and I will see you in the next one.