The Fence

Jack Walsh

A scrap of tattered cloth is caught on the barbs. It flaps wildly in the wind, as anything seeking freedom does. The fence is contorted and mangled where it meets the ground, forming a hole. The dirt below has been pleaded with. The grass gradually embraces sand where water laps at the shoreline. Whispers fade as footsteps wash away. There is nothing notable on the other side of the fence. Rather than what is over there, it is more important
what is not.

Jack is currently a third-year BFA student, majoring in creative writing. There is no such thing as too many short stories according to Jack, especially ones with a twist. He enjoys writing speculative fiction and dreams of a career in writer’s rooms.