it was early autumn when emerson first saw him – a man standing alone by the broken fence along the old road leading into eden. the man wasn’t familiar, & in a town like eden, folks always knew when someone didn’t belong there; it was something in the blood of the town that made it easy to spot outsiders from familiar faces. most times, they rarely stayed. eden had nothing to offer outsiders unless they wanted to blur into the lines where the horizon met the bayou or disappear without a trace. the latter was no rumour, but it spread like wildfire amongst the teenagers & was usually the selling point which kept people away.
maybe that was why curiosity came to emerson. he, like a cat, wanted the knowledge & the satisfaction that it could bring; it would be more than enough to keep him busy for a week, maybe two or longer, depending on who the stranger was. he could have kept on going, but instead, as he was walking back from the southern bayou, dirt-stained & half-lost in his thoughts, emerson had to do a double-take as he looked toward the stranger. he wasn’t from the circle, the younger man would’ve known if he was, but he also wasn’t local either, & there was something about the unfamiliar man’s face that left him unsettled.
swallowing, he made his way closer but kept a distance. the patches of grass woven into the dirt road were enough of a marking between them. slipping his hands into his pockets, emerson slowed, instinct flaring in his gut like a match struck in the darkness as his head tilted.
“ you ain’t from here, ” emerson’s voice was low, guarded. “ this ain’t the place to linger. maybe i can help you? ” while it was posed as a question, emerson held no genuine intention to do what he offered.
@withdamage — starter call.
