Still no writing, but an update

I've been pretty wrung-out over the past few weeks, for RL reasons I won't go into here, so I still haven't gotten any new writing done. But, other than being exhausted, I'm doing okay (meaning, no serious illness or injury or depression), and I've been rereading some of my stories of Fictobers past for a bit of a creative pick-me-up. And you know what? Some of them are pretty darn good, if I do say so myself, especially since most of them were written and posted in the same day.

So, I figured I'd get back into that project I started here late last year, and post some more of my past original fiction on DW, starting today. So, heads up for the little influx of stories! I may revise some of these one day, but for now, I'd like to share them as they are. :)

Short Story: "The Stranger" (Original Fiction)

(Originally posted on October 8, 2018)

The Stranger | 1,416 words| Fantasy/Weird West
Mrs. Baker did not appreciate the knowledge that a stranger was buried on her property. Don and Cuddy had come across the body that afternoon while they were repairing the fence. The stranger, they say, seems to have wandered off the road to the mine and died beneath an old mesquite. They rode into town to fetch the sheriff and the three of them agreed the body was too far gone to move, so they dug a hole and buried him on the spot.

“Far as we could tell, his name was Robert Talbott,” the sheriff told Mrs. Baker. “He had an envelope in his pocket – no letter, just the envelope – addressed to this name, postmark Indianapolis.”

Don and Cuddy insisted there was more, but Mrs. Baker feigned delicacy and begged them to stop. Don had already grown too excited. A sturdy boy of seventeen, Don was a diligent worker, but he was also, as the late Mr. Baker had put it, “none too swift,” apt to follow the slightest distraction into wild flights of fancy. Right now he was waving his arms in demonstrative gestures and speaking quickly, unintelligibly, spittle flying from his lips.

As she watched Cuddy calm her son, Mrs. Baker looked in the direction where they’d found the corpse and frowned. She wished they hadn’t buried the body so soon, before telling her; Cuddy knew better than that. She could already feel faint tremors beneath her feet, but there was nothing she could do until she was free of both Don and the sheriff. She made a vague remark about supper, and taking Don by the arm, bid farewell to the sheriff and headed home.

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