Sarah Amador


Short Story

    Here is an excerpt from Survival:A Duet, a short story of mine recently published in the Redwood Writers 2010 Anthology. To find out more, click on the link to Vintage Voices: Words Poured Out: If you would like to see me reading an excerpt of it, visit:


            Survival: A Duet                               

    by Sarah D. Amador


You are big, full with child. You have long, dark fingers. Your black hair curtains your narrow shoulders.

            The baby will come Tuesday, the midwife said.

            There is a blue metal table, a pipe over the concrete sink, three empty shelves, an ice chest for the cold things. Laundry lines cobweb the air. On the line over the sink, a man’s checkered work shirt hangs by its shoulders, bottom edge swelling with drips.

            On the other side of the ice chest, a heap of rubble. It steepens and climbs and becomes chunks of concrete wall set into a wall of stones. Light pours from a hole in the ceiling, but it’s just a little hole, a tube of dustlight spearing down onto the concrete floor.