By Justin Hunter
Sonia’s desert was a pit, carved into the clay where saguaro and sage once reigned. A hole in the ground where everything had once been. Where nothing was now.
Sonia’s desert was a reminder that anything could be taken. Permission not necessary. The things that made it the desert, the things beneath the dust, were pulled away. Stripped without a thought beyond the pleasure of the moment. The pleasure of taking something away.
Sonia’s desert wasn’t a desert anymore. It was just a pit, and Sonia threw herself in.
Bio: Justin Hunter is currently working on his MFA at Arcadia University. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Corvus Review, Down in the Dirt Magazine, and Centum Press.