Fiction

Something electric happens along highway 17 towards Santa Cruz. At a certain point the need for speed gives way to a slow coasting along the swerve of the roads. The trees tower over, and your eyes can’t help but take in the scenery. The trees sway along the hills, the forestry drowns in abundance, and the air is crisp and pungent. Another swerve and the entire scene hits you again. Soon enough from the hills and forestry and the air crisp and pungent, the natural world becomes all that you know. And that’s when the electricity emerges, a sort of prickling deep within, awakening yourself from eons ago, telling you that you’ve finally come home. But this electricity is fragile and fleeting. And soon enough there are blinking red lights and green signs in Clearview …

Margo’s Neighbor Part 3 Read More »