Frank’s time came at autumnal equinox. Awoken at sunrise by the hand of a beautiful woman; killed at sunset by the hand of his wife.
She had said ‘I do’ in a swirl of cherry blossom. She signed the divorce papers in a storm of autumn leaves.
A druid led his son into a henge. ‘Days shorten. The sun is ailing,’ he said. ‘Can we heal it?’ asked the boy. The druid raised a knife.
I tiptoed to the crib and whispered in baby Joey’s ear. “Can you feel it? Fall’s here and I can’t wait to jump in the leaves with you.”
The editor raises the flame. Contributors step into the circle. The chant begins. Five contributors lower their hoods, five stories to come.
And he ran. He ran for the leaf in a sea of leaves, afraid he would miss one, afraid he would miss that one.