[100 words max: Gargle, California, vandal]
Photo by Michelle E. Kowalski
The Palm Tree, by Erin Cole
Gargle grew hope from a palm tree. It wasn’t the towering, fanned species found in places like California or the Bahamas. These palms were the stout, meaty variety seen on the arms of Gods. Their splayed fingers dangled spherical tufts of promises and desire from a web of angel’s hair. They hung like strangled vandals, plump and ready to harvest.
Gargle stepped up on a knuckle, tugged a pear-shaped wish from the thumb of the palm, and sunk his teeth into it. He tore off a juicy, tart chunk of flesh. It tasted like passion fruit.