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Blood Pact
January 17, 2018
Hannah and I were in seventh grade when we swore our friendship behind that rotting oak tree during recess, red dripping down our palms and onto our filthy sneakers as we clasped hands. It's a shame my scar stings more now, even to glance at, than it ever did when it was fresh.
© Elana N., Marblehead, MA
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This work is a fifty-three word short story, originally written for a competition run by Press 53's Prime Number Magazine. The theme for the competition's January 2018 submissions was "promise".