Non-Fiction

Low Country
by Lynne Huffer

“Mom!” I yelled. “Look what they’re doing!”
     It was a couple of months after we’d moved to our house on Telderskasse, a dark-brick two-story row house in a string of houses that all looked the same. I’d been sitting at the far end of the dining room, doing my homework, when I heard a thud against the plate glass window. At first, I thought a bird had hit it. That had happened before, the dull-colored sparrow trailing a tail of blood as it collapsed down the wall of glass. The flickering memory made me not want to look. But the thud was followed by another, and immediately following it, another. I had to look. Lifting my head, I saw two dark-brown smears smack in the middle of the sparkling pane. Behind the glass three boys from school stood peering over the back gate that led to the alley. Right as I looked up, one of them lobbed another clod of mud over the wall, and it landed again right in the middle of my mother's freshly washed window...