Hunter Dansin

A 100-word story

Somewhere in the twilight fog lies the body. It is doing a lumbar stretch with the left arm pointing down the hill. I do not know how it got there. I found it when I came home.

A siren wails up to my driveway and the lights glow through the fog and the gravel crunches wet under the rubber. A cop steps out.

“Where is it?”

I point from my porch.

More sirens and soon the meditative, still atmosphere of my remote property evaporates into engines and camera flashes and tape. Twilight will pass soon, but what about the fog?

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