Chapter 3 - The Yellow Canvas
They stood exactly three paces away.
The fabric of their dresses was a faded, sickly yellow.
It was the color of a bruise just before it heals, or a field of wheat that had died on the stalk.
The cotton was stiff.
It did not ripple in the slight breeze.
It was weighed down by layers of sweat, grease, and the fine red clay of the road.
The older girl's hem was frayed into a dozen uneven ribbons.
The ribbons brushed against her bare ankles.
Her skin was completely coated in dirt, turning her small, bird-like legs into the color of the earth she stood on.
She did not wear shoes.
Her toes were curled downward, digging fiercely into the hot dust like the roots of a desperate weed trying to find water.
Her hair was a dark, tangled mass, hanging over her forehead in heavy, matted ropes.
She stared at Silas.
Her eyes did not dart to his gun.
They did not dart to his hands.
They remained fixed directly on the rusted iron of his irises, locked in a silent, terrifyingly adult standoff.
May you like
She breathed shallowly, her ribcage barely moving beneath the stiff yellow cotton.
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