100-Word Fiction: ‘The Sycamore’

Nails hammered into the trunk let him climb to the tree’s big branches. He edged out and hung his legs over, swinging them in the air. The sun was on his face. Then he pressed his palms down into the branch, feeling the tension, lifting himself up and pushing out, out, into the sky. He braced his legs, locked his knees, and then he hit. The earth was soft but the jolt was huge, a giant tremor up through his bones, and an impact that forced his thighs into his hips, breaking his pelvis as he crumpled on the ground.

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Author: mwbewick

MW Bewick is a writer, journalist and musician, based in Wivenhoe and sometimes London. He is one half of Dunlin Press.

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