by Grey Harlowe
“When will we get there, Mom?” Caleb asked. Again.
Melanie looked out her window. Trees covered the landscape. Green blurred against grey and brown. It had been like that forever, more time than she could account for.
“Soon, honey,” she said. How had they arrived here to begin with? Neil was supposed to take them to the station for their trip to Mother’s. Cheaper to go by rail than by air. Something hadn’t gone right. A brake slammed down. Car tires screeching at an intersection. But here they were anyway, engines rumbling beneath their feet.
Melanie sighed. Trees continued.
Richard Edwards has a BFA in Creative Writing and Journalism from Bowling Green State University and an M.S. in Education from the University of Akron. Managing editor of Drunk Duck, poetry editor for Prairie Margins, reporter for Miscellany, Akron Journal, Lorain Journal, and The BG News. He has also worked as a professional writer and editor in the medical publishing industry for several years. For the last 15 years Richard has also taught literature and writing at the secondary and post-secondary levels. He works much of the time with at-risk students.