“You don’t mean that,” Elwin said, scratching the tip of his blade deeper into his birch tree carving.
“Like hell I don’t.” Astor flicked a stone across the lake, yielding three skips before succumbing to water. Blindly, he reached for another stone and chucked it. No skips.
“It’s been six years,” Elwin said, turning to his older brother. “I mean, you gotta get over it.”
Astor picked up another stone. “Sure thing, Pixiedust. Next I see him, I’ll forget him runnin’,” flinging his rock toward Elwin, striking his head. Elwin slumped against the tree.
Astor stared. Astor cried. Astor ran.
Featured Photo Credit: Tobi Firestone (c) 2014