“I really believed him,” Trevor said. “I did.” Zoe smiled. “We all did,” she said.
When they’d finished the smoke, the cigarette butt ground into the concrete floor of the shed, we walked together into the bright, cool sunshine. The two of them walked ahead of me as I stopped to close the door of the shed, making sure to latch it so the door wouldn’t blow open on the next windy day. Zoe and Trevor went into the house, the screen door swinging shut behind them.
As I walked across the yard, the squirrel I’d seen earlier (at least I think it was the same one) rushed down the tree trunk and scampered across the yard. It came to a stop between me and the screen door, watching me as if trying to gauge if I posed a threat. After a staring contest that lasted maybe all of fifteen seconds, the squirrel moved on, disappearing around the corner of the house. With the squirrel gone, I was left completely alone in the yard. Not wanting to be alone, I went inside the house, rejoining the voices in there.
Mike Ramon is a writer from Illinois, USA. His fiction has been previously published in the Eunoia Review and Aphelion Webzine.