He’ll Die If You Don’t Get Him In Water

Today’s post is a short story behind the paywall.

If you’ve been enjoying my free posts and want to support my creative fiction plus get access to my archive, I’d love to have you on board as a paid subscriber.

Coming up later this month: this Friday, I’ll be sharing a behind-the-scenes look at where I think this specific story came from. Then, on June 26th, I’m diving deep into the intense, 18-month push to break Mandolin Orange (now Watchhouse).

Thank you for reading, and for supporting my writing.

-billy

*************************************************************************************************************

“Do you think it’ll work?” I asked my cousin.

Peter planted his legs wide like a tripod as he worked, his straight hair sticking out from beneath a Yankees cap.

We stood at the end of an unfinished dock that jutted out over the lake. The water was smooth as glass, a mirror tinged purple in the last light of day. Across the lake, voices carried, softened and indistinct by the time they reached us.

“’Course it will. My dad and I do it all the time.” Peter scooped a handful of corn from the can and threaded the kernels onto the hook, his face pinched with concentration. The smell of burning charcoal drifted from nearby campsites.