Story

I never thought much of a life at the edge of the town. I mean, I was still in the city limits but it never really felt like I was in a city at all. The sleepy little town was more of a child of sprawl than a suburban safe haven, but I never questioned that. We used to drive down the street to fish on the old Jones Farm. The boys would all pile in the back of Lucas Jones’s truck and brave the bumpy hills that sloped gently towards the over-glorified retention pond we called a “lake” in innocent ignorance. Although man-made, it was well stocked, merely a result of time. We never kept our catch, always released. It was never anything work keeping anyways, just small brim likely caught and brought over from a real, natural, nearby lake. We never questioned it though. To us, the cool days by the pond were oddly liberating. We hadn’t really escaped life or the city behind us. We could still see the glow of its lights over the trees. But to us, we had made it. We were just far enough away to feel separated from the town and the responsibilities it held.