by Juliann Wetz

“Skunk!” Chuck raced into a nearby pond to wash off the stench. The January water was icy. Chuck scrubbed himself vigorously, then emerged from the water to discover that his keys had fallen out of his pocket.

Chuck ran to the edge of the pond, but it was no use; those keys were swallowed by mud. Teeth chattering, Chuck knew he had to get out of his wet clothes. He stripped and climbed into the pickup bed, crouching low against the wind. Two days later, that’s where they found him—as they tore his frozen skin from the metal.

Juliann Wetz

Juliann Wetz has been published in dozens of regional and national magazines and newspapers. This is her first 100-word story submission; hopefully not her last.