With relish, rainpour pools in our dead-end dirt road. We, David from across the street and me, sit in that puddle like it’s a lakeside resort. Our little buns caked in mud. Drawers soaked and drooping with glee. Our moms, lounging on aluminum chairs woven with green and blue stripes, pass the time smoking Viceroys and drinking black coffee.
The Perfect Beach
Rain pools in the dirt road as two kids sit barefoot in the puddle.

Loved this piece?
- What did this work make you think? Join the conversation below and share your thoughts.
- Inspired to share your own story? Submit your work to be featured in Written Tales. We’re here to showcase your voice and talent.
✍️ Submission Contributions
Your voice keeps this space alive. We accept poetry, short fiction, and creative nonfiction from writers at every level.
Paid Members → Free Submissions
Non-Members → $3 Contribution per submission
That small contribution goes directly toward editing, publishing costs, and showcasing authentic work, helping us keep this space accessible to all.
