Short Stories – M. Lucero

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Constellation

It was a sound he might have heard any night on the edge of the woods, machete in hand, bent from cutting bamboo from the slope beyond the highway…

If the ferry didn’t come soon it wouldn’t come at all, and Simon would be stuck on Hogfish Key another night…

I spit — salt on my lips, thick on my tongue, and sand, and something worse…

She has only been on the island for twenty minutes, and already she’s disappointed…

Drew climbs out of the truck and whistles as heat blankets him…

The sound the stone made as it chipped the old oak was dull and hollow…