Sam Blackwell: A Narrative Fiction

Decent Essays

Sam Blackwell smiled as he wiped sweat from his eyes. His ax, buried deep into the base of the stump, was angled just below the natural hanging point of his hand with a new pile of firewood jumbled next to it. Even in the morning cold, Sam’s T-shirt was wet under the arms and down the ridge of his spine. A few feet away sat Maggie, his wife. Her thick-rimmed, black sunglasses shielded her eyes from Sam’s gaze. He hated how he got lost in their emptiness, remembering the magnitude of their blueness. Now the sockets were a constant reminder of how much he’d lost the day she died. He used to tease her about the color. “They. Are. Turquoise,” Maggie insisted, spitting each word out with breathy emphasis. “I dunno, Mags. I think they’re cyan,” …show more content…

Maggie’s plate was cold and her coffee had stopped steaming, its warmth escaping into the oak table. “How ‘bout the snow?” asked Sam, reaching across the table to scavenge her bacon. His fingers were dirty. Mud caked the back of his hands and his nails were black. “Well, don’t wait for grace, Mags. Eat up.” Sam waited the correct amount of time for a reasonable response. “Not hungry? Alright, I’ll just have to take care of that. Starving Africans, you know,” Sam said, setting his plate aside. “You’re not one of them vegetarians now, are you?” he laughed, starting on her eggs. “No, you couldn’t be a vegetarian. You loved meat. You loved animals, but that never stopped you from eating them.” He smirked as a speck of egg launched from his mouth and embedded itself in his beard. “Told you these were watery.” Sam stopped shaving years ago. He loved the warmth his black beard gave as he stood in his outdoor workshop. He loved the sweaty sawdust smell it held after a long day in the sun. He loved the way it peaked mid-chest, occasionally becoming intertwined with his chest hairs. Sam had embraced his mountain man’s life. Maggie had long since given up on trying to wrestle with him about it. Needing to leave the canyon bi-weekly to visit Nails n’ Screws, the hardware store, or Ted’s, the grocery in town, Sam saw no need to tame the wildness of his

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