by Jesse R Traynham - Author

Likes: 4
Words: 200

In 1980, my buddy Spike and me owned the neighborhood. We called him that cause he liked to spike his hair. I don’t member his real name. After chilling all morning, we’d grab a baloney sandy and some Pringles, and head out to rule.

Every day in July hit 100° that year.

We’d hop on our dirt bikes and hightail it down my road to Meager Lane, a dead end. As we got near the end, the shimmer of the hot road caused our bikes to hover, and we would fly into the alien world of the woods.

We would ride for hours.

Our clothes drenched in sweat. That’s when we would head to Oscar’s Handy Mart. Spike and me would take turns drop’n a quarter in the machine for our Dr Peppers.

Then we’d cross the divided highway back to our neighborhood. We coasted most of the way home.

After forty-two days, the 100° streak broke, and that was that.

Not long after, Spike moved to the next town over. We never saw each other after that.

I miss those days when no question was too big or stupid, and everything seemed possible. Those summer daze were the best.

by Eolas Pellor

Likes: 3
Words: 200

We’d been running through the sprinkler, back and forth. The cold water was like needles, but the sensation only lasted for a moment, and then you were through the arching spray and on the other side. Once we’d cooled off, we walked two blocks to the store for ice-cream.

It had been above 90° in the shade for a week, and a couple of days had bumped up past 99°, and we saw the big thermometer outside Pop Rafford’s store had broken, the red liquid inside trickling down the word wooden siding, and dripping onto the gravel underneath it.

Billy swore it had smoked when it dribbled out, and the guys started arguing whether thermometers contained a deadly poison that could kill everyone in Durrand, or an acid so dangerous it could skeletonise your hand in seconds if it splashed on you. Billy was firmly in the acid camp, but Pat was an equally convinced member of the poison persuasion.

Joey, Pat’s younger brother, licked the drips from his ice-cream sandwich, while the others argued.

“But if it was poison, then why would they put thermometers in your mouth?” he asked. “If it’s acid, why don’t it dissolve the siding?”

by Mary Zuelke Author

Likes: 3
Words: 200

The blacktop stifled her breaths and clung to the soles of her shoes as she walked, towel in hand.

The park was about a dozen streets away. A train rattled down the tracks—iron and hot, shaking the ground.

Voices spattered the sun-soaked park. Screams burst through the chain link fence. Colors ran, jumped, and bobbed up and down.

Rules: No running.

She walked fast

Directions: Shower first.

She shrugged.

Hoots and hollers echoed in every direction. Chlorine burned the inside of her nose, but it smelled like cooling off.

Ceecee found the perfect spot, between the deep and shallow water. At the edge, she dipped a toe where the water forcefully bubbled out.

Songs hummed in the heat. “If you like piña coladas… getting caught….”

She dove under—streamlined, no breath, eyes open. Pull down and kick. The burn—she surfaced with big breaths.

Eying the distance, a smile cracked. Half-way, not bad. Stealth like a submarine.

The diving boards next. She stood in line, fifth back.

Splash, one step forward.

Splash. Another.

Scratchy baby blue board wobbled beneath.

At the end she bounced. Yelped and jumped, turned 180 degrees, did a scissors, and plunged into the water.