Jenny
The first thing that Angel really noticed about the prairies was the sky. The hugeness of it, the never-ending stretch of blue and grey intersected by large groups of storm clouds. The clouds were swollen and dark, like blackberries in August, hanging low, heavy, and bruised.
When she passed the sign that told her she’d made it to Saskatchewan, she noticed that it didn’t welcome her. It just said, Saskatchewan, Naturally, suggesting that perhaps everyone finds themselves passing through there sooner or later. It was late March, and the ground was still in the midst of thaw. The scent of wet earth hung in the air, mingling with the chill of snow that still sat in small, gritty piles along the side of the road. It wouldn’t be long before everything was blooming. Angel recalled how Claire, who grew up on Vancouver Island, hated how long it took for things to bloom in Nova Scotia […]
The Game (WIP)
We go to the game because that’s what we do on Saturday nights. My dad, Tyler, and me. We pile into my dad’s red Ford Ranger, me in the middle seat with my legs scrunched up against my chest. The faded upholstery smells like cigarettes, even though Dad quit smoking two years ago. Some things just hold on like that.
Tyler’s sixteen, and leans against the window, staring out at the passing farmland. He’s working at the lobster plant in town, saving for his own truck. They pay him seventeen dollars an hour to put rubber bands around their claws. When he comes home, the plant’s fishy odour clings to his jacket, like the cigarette smell in Dad’s truck. I don’t think it will last as long though, because lobster season ends in May. I hope he buys the truck soon, because now that I’m thirteen, my legs are getting too long for the middle seat. Even though I like being squished in between the two of them, my knees start to hurt after fifteen minutes.