The Bayou

by Arden Powell

Eugene had a private terror that he nurtured in the darkest hours of the night that one day, the bottom of the river might seem the most appealing option to him, as well. To walk out somewhere quiet where it was just him and the insects and God, and finish it. There was no sense to his fear; he had never been inclined to take his life. But he was afraid the mood was catching, and one man’s hopelessness might transfer to him if he spent too long in their company, dead or alive,

They sometimes found company in each other, two shipwrecked souls drifting side by side, but never for very long.

“Hell has no claim on me, but if it did, it wouldn’t be on account of who I take to bed. There are plenty of more important sins to choose from if they want to drag me down to the fire and brimstone.”