Moshe had hiked off in search of cell phone
reception. He planned to call a tow truck. It was
dark now. A dizzying multitude of stars whirled
over our heads. The air throbbed with plangent
insect sounds. William had whined himself to
sleep. Uncle tried to cheer me. He proposed
lighting a campfire and telling ghost stories.
The high veldt, Uncle said, had a blood curdling
history. I sneered at his silliness. Suddenly a
meteor shot across the sky. I gasped, and it was
gone. I shivered. I felt bereft. Moshe had already
been away for hours.

Author: Robert James Berry

Poet & Novelist

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