"My arm is stinging.
It’s a fairly deep scrape, just below the elbow. Inner arm. Blood trickles down and stains my jeans.
Shit. Ma ain’t gonna like that.
I was in such a good mood today. It made me careless. I ran and lunged into the tree; I didn’t even notice the broken branch until it tore into my skin.
Shit."
Thus begins the "Foster", a short story of mine recently published with The White Wall Review. The story follows the titular character, Foster, an unreliable narrator musing about the world around him from the secluded perch of a tree in his neighbourhood park.
Check it out here at: https://whitewallreview.com/foster/
Content Warning: language, mature subject matter
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