cringing with disgust. She read it again and recalled her meeting with Rebecca. The woman seemed nice enough, but that didn’t mean her son would be the same. Obviously he wasn’t too well liked by someone. And she had already agreed to hang out with him later in the day.
She looked up, into the chute, searching the messages a little farther inside.
And found another bearing Tim’s name.
Tim Flemwad is a pussy.
She looked to the left wall.
Tim Flemwad takes it up the ass.
To the right.
Tim Flemwad licks shit.
She counted twenty notes with Tim’s name, but the ink was faded and scratched, written over in some parts. The freshest-looking message lay just out of reach, but what little she could see of it told her that it promised to be the juiciest bit of info yet.
Tim Fleming Loves …
Mallory groaned, unable to read the rest.
“ Who? Tim Fleming loves who?”
Due to the incline of the chute the last half of the message vanished into shadow. Even on her tip-toes, she couldn’t see what it said.
“ Damn.”
She couldn’t help wanting to know the rest. It was like a sitcom at this point. And here, obviously, was the source of the whole conflict, teasing her like cliffhanger ending.
She rested her hands on the lip of the chute, testing its strength. She looked up. Obviously the metal was strong enough to hold the weight of those who had ventured inside to leave their tag on this makeshift bulletin board, and all the newer messages seemed to be farther up. Perhaps one of them would reveal the name of the mystery girl Tim loved and shed light on the reason for so many hateful comments about him?
After one last moment of contemplation, she climbed inside and crawled upward.
Up and up she went, getting closer and closer, but now her own shadow was blocking the light, and she couldn’t fully see the entire message until she was almost on top of it. Then, finally, mercifully, she discovered the final piece of the message.
Tim Fleming Loves … Fucking Donkeys.
Mallory rolled her eyes.
“ I crawled all the way up here for THAT?”
She expelled her frustration in a single long breath, not wanting to think of how dirty she’d gotten, especially now that it was all for nothing. The upper opening of the chute waited just a few yards ahead, letting in a little more light, and she inched along toward it, searching the writing for more mention of Tim. She found plenty, but nothing that explained the anger behind the messages.
She reached the top of the chute.
Switching interests, Mallory wondered what the inside of the silo looked like, imagining it as a huge archive of spray paint and ink.
She leaned into the dank air of the silo’s interior, looking around to see what she could make out in the gloom.
The second she did, the foul stench of rot overpowered her senses.
She gagged and coughed with each lungful, involuntarily clutching her nose when she reeled away from the stink. With a moan of disgust, she twisted around to slide back down the chute, but with all her weight pressed on the unsupported edge at the opening, the sheet metal bent and the section she sat on tore away from the wall, spilling her backward.
Into the silo.
The world blurred into gray and black, rushing past her like a midnight wind.
I’m dead! I’m dead! I’m going to die!
She hit the ground before her fear transformed into a scream, landing on her back atop a carpet of moist soil and damp leaves.
She lay motionless, staring skyward. A brilliant beam of sunlight pierced the gloom from a missing panel in the silo’s domed roof, and she squinted her eyes against it, realizing she was unhurt.
No broken bones. No twisted limbs.
Groaning, she pushed herself to a sitting position.
The stench of death still polluted the air, and she slapped a hand over her mouth and nose to block it out.
Ugh! That’s sick, she thought. I have to get out of here!
She glanced up, searching for the chute opening, praying it wasn’t too high to
She looked up, into the chute, searching the messages a little farther inside.
And found another bearing Tim’s name.
Tim Flemwad is a pussy.
She looked to the left wall.
Tim Flemwad takes it up the ass.
To the right.
Tim Flemwad licks shit.
She counted twenty notes with Tim’s name, but the ink was faded and scratched, written over in some parts. The freshest-looking message lay just out of reach, but what little she could see of it told her that it promised to be the juiciest bit of info yet.
Tim Fleming Loves …
Mallory groaned, unable to read the rest.
“ Who? Tim Fleming loves who?”
Due to the incline of the chute the last half of the message vanished into shadow. Even on her tip-toes, she couldn’t see what it said.
“ Damn.”
She couldn’t help wanting to know the rest. It was like a sitcom at this point. And here, obviously, was the source of the whole conflict, teasing her like cliffhanger ending.
She rested her hands on the lip of the chute, testing its strength. She looked up. Obviously the metal was strong enough to hold the weight of those who had ventured inside to leave their tag on this makeshift bulletin board, and all the newer messages seemed to be farther up. Perhaps one of them would reveal the name of the mystery girl Tim loved and shed light on the reason for so many hateful comments about him?
After one last moment of contemplation, she climbed inside and crawled upward.
Up and up she went, getting closer and closer, but now her own shadow was blocking the light, and she couldn’t fully see the entire message until she was almost on top of it. Then, finally, mercifully, she discovered the final piece of the message.
Tim Fleming Loves … Fucking Donkeys.
Mallory rolled her eyes.
“ I crawled all the way up here for THAT?”
She expelled her frustration in a single long breath, not wanting to think of how dirty she’d gotten, especially now that it was all for nothing. The upper opening of the chute waited just a few yards ahead, letting in a little more light, and she inched along toward it, searching the writing for more mention of Tim. She found plenty, but nothing that explained the anger behind the messages.
She reached the top of the chute.
Switching interests, Mallory wondered what the inside of the silo looked like, imagining it as a huge archive of spray paint and ink.
She leaned into the dank air of the silo’s interior, looking around to see what she could make out in the gloom.
The second she did, the foul stench of rot overpowered her senses.
She gagged and coughed with each lungful, involuntarily clutching her nose when she reeled away from the stink. With a moan of disgust, she twisted around to slide back down the chute, but with all her weight pressed on the unsupported edge at the opening, the sheet metal bent and the section she sat on tore away from the wall, spilling her backward.
Into the silo.
The world blurred into gray and black, rushing past her like a midnight wind.
I’m dead! I’m dead! I’m going to die!
She hit the ground before her fear transformed into a scream, landing on her back atop a carpet of moist soil and damp leaves.
She lay motionless, staring skyward. A brilliant beam of sunlight pierced the gloom from a missing panel in the silo’s domed roof, and she squinted her eyes against it, realizing she was unhurt.
No broken bones. No twisted limbs.
Groaning, she pushed herself to a sitting position.
The stench of death still polluted the air, and she slapped a hand over her mouth and nose to block it out.
Ugh! That’s sick, she thought. I have to get out of here!
She glanced up, searching for the chute opening, praying it wasn’t too high to
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