“Blood Stained Snow”

The white snow, spotted with blood, moved. It trembled under Kenny Howard’s boots as he stomped toward me

“Get up, boy,” he said to me through his coarse moustache. “Stand up, and fight me like a man.”
I spit from where I knelt beneath the old oak tree on the edge of the field nearest the bar. I had shown up at the bar an hour ago with the prettiest girl in town on my arm. It was my first social outing since I moved to the tiny Kansas town from Atlanta. This night would be unforgettable.

As I pushed my thin body from the ground and to my feet I thought, this night really is unforgettable. I wiped at my bulging, bloodied lip and glanced at Marcia. She was standing a few yards away from the brawl, her fur coat buttoned up to her chin. Faint light from a distant street lamp illuminated her pretty blue eyes. It highlighted the life in her cheeks and her nice red lips. I expected her to be knee deep in worry for me, wanting us to cut the fighting out and get back inside to the warmth of the bar where she would choose the most gentlemanly out of the two of us to dance with for the rest of the evening. Instead Marcia was all smiles, eyes wide with excitement. Two men fighting over her. Is this what she really desired? For her love to be won from a skin to skin argument?

Kenny bounced in position—knees bent, fists up, smirking like he’d already claimed a victory.
I gathered my fat lip and the peacoat I laid down beneath the tree and started across the field toward the bar. I heard Kenny chuckle deep in his throat.

“You ain’t gonna fight for me?” Marcia hollered across the snowy field in her thick Kansas accent.
I barely turned back toward her as I kept walking.
“No,” I said. “I’m not.”

Related Posts
Filter by
Post Page
Featured Fiction New Fiction Fiction Craft Essays/Articles (all)
Sort by

“The Stairs”

They are right there as soon as you open the door to your mother’s house, in an almost too close for comfort way. S
2019-05-03 07:55:05
nicholedecker

8

“No Access Beyond This Point”

I was fine heading into work, but then the excruciating, as I once thought of it, happened when I stopped in at my
2019-02-06 17:46:53
cadylw

8

“Running for Avocados and Writing from Bears”

Chad Lutz Alice Walker Graduate Workshop October 17,
2019-02-03 11:01:30
chadlutz11386

8

“What We Don’t Say Out Loud”

Maharishi doesn’t speak to me anymore. Neither does God.  But sometimes, the bald guy behind the counter at the Vi
2018-10-19 10:18:41
jkimbrell

8

“The Secret Musicians Know That Can Help Writers”

I am grateful that I came to writing after years spent as a practicing musician, where I learned perspectives that
2018-10-10 19:18:30
nlmcmne

8

“A Writer, Not Writing”

Except for a sneeze muffled into the crook of an arm, a sigh here or there, an occasional cough, or the sandy
2018-10-01 17:39:41
edward-dougherty

8

“Xavier”

The last time I saw Xavier was on my tenth birthday. He proposed to me that day, with a ring fashioned from a
2018-02-12 15:59:18
jrothman1

8

“How to Heal a Family in Three Easy Steps”

Step One Gather in the room no one goes into anymore. Yes, that one.
2017-11-06 12:32:42
mercedeslucero

8

“Deep Clean”

I never considered myself the pressure washer type until my neighbor said buying a pressure washer was the best
2017-08-22 15:58:52
ehelfers

8

“Writing as a Painter”

My father was trained as a painter, and my earliest memories are filled with the smell of turpentine and oil paints,
2017-07-10 09:54:46
lsjohnson

8

About Bre Hall

Bre Hall is a senior creative writing major at Pacific University in Oregon. With her childhood roots in Kansas the flat lands and small town setting of the Sunflower State finds its way in the majority of her work. Above her love for cheese is her passion for writing and storytelling. After graduation, she aspires to travel the world and write.



WP Twitter Auto Publish Powered By : XYZScripts.com