“Tie her to the tree! The kudzu’ll cover her in minutes,” Tommy Armstrong said, laughing.
As I pass the Armstrong house, its fire-ravaged skeleton kudzu-covered, my friends’ voices echo as if moments, not years, ago.
“Kudzu’s not scary,” said Bryant, my champion until honor spurred him and my brother Austin to Afghanistan. Their voices haunt me still.
“Kudzu’s gonna get you,” Tommy says.
I turn toward the man I’d last seen at Austin’s funeral. While fire scarred him beyond skin deep, his smile remains, home.
“Done running away?”
I nod. “I wanted to escape memories, but what’s left without them?”
end 9/1/2017 (100 words)