The Sinner

I know perps always return to the scene of the crime. So why am I going back, knowing I could be seen? The anniversary is approaching. It’s busy with gill nets in certain seasons; this isn’t one of them. Only drunk and homeless frequent its cold shelter now, and they never talk.

I grunt as I heave the boulder aside.

Crayfish blast away. All that is left of her is bones and skin. I kneel in the rancid mud and pray over my transgressions. Over ending a beautiful life and then hiding my shame. One lake sturgeon closer to species extinction.

[101 words]

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