THE FORGOTTEN, by D.C. LozarJake ripped the paper out of his notebook and crumpled it into a tight wad. The evening drizzle was getting serious, and splattering droplets had smeared much of what he had written. The writing exercise had been to describe a place that held special meaning to him. He sat on an overturned metal bucket with his back against the dead fig tree. Lightning had long ago split its trunk in two, and its charred branches offered little shelter from the rain. He tried again to imagine what his parents must have been like on their first date under this tree. He thought he heard them in the gentle rumble of thunder. He squinted, trying to see them in the twilight shadows. Rain blurred his vision, and he felt a lump forming in his throat.
He was not going to start crying.
