The girl crawled under a low riverbank willow, hiding from the sky and everybody else. Flashlights shine around, at the willow, at Rodney, shitfaced and mumbly, mostly undressed, lurching along the gravel bar, scratches on his chest. The girl is curled up, looking straight down toward something certain and invisible, showing sunburned shoulders and a pale stripe where her swimsuit strap belonged. I only see her in spots as the lights bounce about. Spots of light bouncing sudden pictures.

—
Daniel Woodrell is the author of Winter’s Bone and, most recently, The Outlaw Album: Stories.

Read more: http://www.esquire.com/fiction/fiction-contest-0612#ixzz28LYupcTH