Slosh
Chapter 1
Before the reading, I want to acknowledge the person whom I saw doing this on Substack. I wish I had wrote down their name, as they were the first person I saw submitting chapters of their work on Substack as individual posts. Maybe they weren’t the first to come up with this idea, but I wanted to thank them for the inspiration. Once I find you again, I’ll give you a proper shoutout (it was K.J. Knight!).
Hope you enjoy the read!
Diary Entry #1
The world ended to the sound of misfire.
Rain pelted against the wooden watchtower as lightning scarred the expanse, stabbing the bark of pine trees, splintering it. The Fire Lookout rested on the bed, turning the flashlight on and off, watching a moth cuddled under its wings on the ceiling—a canister of bug spray rested on the Lookout’s abdomen.
He had caught sight of the moth by accident. Its wings, like fabric, cloaked over its body as it tried to blend with the swollen wood. He wondered if it felt out of reach. Felt in control of its circumstance.
His sister thought the Fire Lookout position would be good for him. A seasonal job away from the world could be a restart—a world that refused to look his way.
“Tower 2—”
The Lookout’s ears perked as he sighed into a stand before walking to the radio.
“Tower 2,” said the Lookout. His response settled in the lines of the radio, trapped and never reaching the person that requested him. “This is tower 2, over.”
Silence remained. The Lookout saw that the call came from Tower 4.
Due diligence. The last thing his sister said to him. The Lookout changed the radio channel.
“Tower 3,” he said. Silence cut through the air as it grew louder than the pelting rain against the watchtower.
In between the clattering of rain, the Lookout heard it. The unrhythmic splash of steps overrode all others. It gurgled and splat up the watchtower steps.
The Slosh.
The Lookout turned to the door, wondering if it was someone from the other watchtowers. A wonder that died with each step. Each gurgle. Each slosh.
Palm sweat. Iris dilated. Heart beating into his ears—drumming to the want of survival. He went to grab the firearm under his bed, his body tensing to each sloshing step.
The door creaked open as a magazine was checked and inserted. Water spilled through the doorway.
Turning on heels, the Lookout raised the barrel towards the doorway.
Two gunshots. Muffled and unheard.
The Slosh echoes through rain. Through forests and into nearby towns. Down streets and city blocks. It echoed throughout the land until it reached the sea, where it died in the waves.
Nothing can remain after the slosh. Only a moth hiding in an empty room. A smoking gun. Bug spray resting on the bed.
First of all, let me say that I am deeply honored and humbled to have inspired you to share your work in this way. I'm definitely not the first to do it, but being the first you noticed is just as important and reaffirming. I've had great joy in serializing my story, and I wish the same joy, relaxation, and freedom for you.
Now your story—simply awesome. I love your style and your prose, and see immediately there is much I could learn from you. I'm hooked and will be coming back for more. Keep writing—please.