Honey Creek

A few weeks before graduation I skipped school with my buddy Jordan.

We were hanging out under the bridge that crosses Honey Creek, drinking from a bottle of Wild Turkey that Jordan swiped from his step-dad's liquor cabinet.

We had a pretty good buzz rolling when Jordan pulled the gun out of his backpack. I don't know where he got it, probably another one of his step-dad's treasures. Anyway, we started playing around, shooting empty bottles that we found on the creek bank.

I'd forgotten about Mary, that I told her to meet us here. I already felt jittery, worried that someone would hear the gunfire and call the cops. Then I heard something moving through the brush. Everything after was pure reflex. It wasn't planned. Just point and shoot.

After that everything blurs together. Jordan cursing and throwing up. Grabbing Mary's body and rolling it into the creek. The smell or her perfume and blood, and the relentless drone of cicadas as we fled through the woods.