Bucky's 10th

Before Owen reached the trail’s end, a bat screeched by, quickening his heartbeat, and he repeated what he had often been told about the creatures whose paths he crossed: they’re more frightened of you than you are of them. He repeated these words but stopped short of a mantra. He reached the trailhead and turned left to walk along the fence surrounding the tennis courts. He crossed a small field that was more of a storm drain basin and passed through the gap in the fence near the dugout. You could smell the honeysuckle on the breeze. When he dropped the duffel bag, glass clinked on metal. He was between home and first. The unchalked path was all weeds and dandelions.

FictionBryan HarveyJuly 1, 2023Fiction

in the end, the surgeon would still carve into my patellar tendon

because it’s the gold standard, what all athletes use, but doc’s words only echo in my mind as mom and i look at the x-ray of my shredded acl ligament torn on two ends like frayed sidewall string. i still taste wet turf pellets from when i collapsed,

the Under Review is an online literary journal committed to publishing literary fiction, poetry, and creative non-fiction with a sport slant, nod, backdrop, or undercurrent.