Wood takes a year to season. A lot can happen in a year. Mama might marry kind Mr. Forsyth and then we’ll live in his town. I’ll miss my friends and school. On the upside, I’ll attend a church that ain’t so fervent on hellfire talk.
The two detectives came by yesterday, again. They inspected the axe and sifted through the woodpile but missed the two stick legs attached to Pa. Pa was a man who beat me and Mama even though he sang loudest in church. I reckon he’s seasoned now and perfect for hellfire burning.
Sharon Boyle lives in East Lothian, Scotland, and writes around her family and part-time job. Her short stories and flash pieces have been published online and in magazines, including Ellipsis Zine, Retreat West, Reflex Fiction, and Bath Anthology. Currently, she is writing a YA novel mystery/thriller she hopes will be a firecracker success. She tweets as @SharonBoyle50 and has a luddite-basic blog at boyleblethers.wordpress.com. Her dream is to have a writing shed so she can potter and procrastinate in total peace.
The Centifictionist 
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