Burying the Hatchet


The preacher and I sat in silence.

We’d never seen eye to eye. His thoughts on faith bored me, and my relentless cynicism tested his resolve.

On his deathbed, he believed he was headed for salvation and I expected him to fade into nothing.

We were both surprised that summer night when he showed up on my porch, smelling of damp earth.

“Well,” I said, at last. “Care for a drink?”


11 thoughts on “Burying the Hatchet

  1. Oh my goodness. I was expecting this to be posted a couple of weeks down the line and completely missed it!

    I’m glad that so many people enjoyed this story! It was a really fun piece to write, and I love me some dark humor.

    Looking forward to submitting another one soon!


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