Through The Dust

“Come closer to the fire.”
The boy huffed and turned around on the jutting rock he sat on and then huffed again, his boots kicking up a cloud of dust around him. His father watched him then unfolded a small ball of tobacco packed in paper. He spread the dried leaves into the centre of a squared bit of corn husk and rolled it gently. The crinkling made the boy squirm. “Suit yourself.” A match struck.
“Don’t know why we got to be out here in the first place.”
“Can’t get somewhere without going through somewhere else.”
“Coulda stayed in a motel. Damn coyotes gonna mess us up I bet. Can you hear em yelping at us?”
The man sighed smoke. “They won’t get near the fire, boy. Come close.”
The boy looked back over his shoulder, the flames dotting his eyes. “Coulda taken the truck, Pa. Nothin out here but the cold and coyotes anyway.” He spat through his teeth. “We’d be at Ma’s hours ago by now.”
“True.” His father exhaled and smiled at the ground.
The boy watched him.
“That fire making much of a difference?”

View this story's 2 comments.