Where My Friend’s Brother Died

First published in 50-Word Stories

Townsfolk named it Suicide Hill, a dirt road heading into the setting sun. It intersected train tracks near the bottom, with no warning lights or crossbars.

My friend called it Memory Lane, and we rode our bikes in the midday, coasting toward make-shift crosses, feet off pedals, setting spirits free.

© C. Jean Downer

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