No Wereville
By M.F.Moose

    “Wayne! Wayne Price you get out here with that tarp before your daddy is as stiff as a sun dried possum on the waterway bridge.”
    God damn it, I thought as I tossed the worn quilt off of my bed onto the floor. It is bad enough to have a hopeless drunk for a dad but this was just too much. The man hardly ever makes it to the pond and quite frankly I wasn’t sure if I cared anymore, anyway in two days I would be sixteen and I wouldn’t have to put up with this shit anymore.
     I could hear the hose going full blast as my mom tried to keep dad moist. I slipped on the new flip flops she had bought me at the beach store in Oak Island; at least they...

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