Ficlets

Louisiana Crawfish

The cold and dark swamp is almost without life. Its dark water and misty air crept into motion as I rowed into its depth.

The moons heavy light lurked ever so prominent between the weeping branches of the trees.

The small tiny canoe glided across the alligator infested waters.

We could not reach the house quick enough. We watch aimlessly as the water splashed circles across its thin surface.

Movement was felt on both sides of the swamp.

Heavy like voids filled the night sky and I could hear life breathing down my neck.

What seem like hours became double in time as we made our way down stream.

Sweat beaded across my forehead as my hands quietly rowed the ores of the canoe. Through the trees I could see my aunts’ house, its light peeping through the brush of the weeping willows.

Home was very close and I could smell the Louisiana crawfish cooking.

Steam was flowing through the large chimney as the smell of crawfish raced into the warmth of the summer air.

I was home and safe.

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