“Grab
a knife from the kitchen and follow me,” Josh said from the front
door. He always sounded like he was losing his voice, like he’d
been screaming in his sleep or into his pillow behind closed doors,
wide awake with tear filled eyes. Whatever it was, it made me respect
him less. Instead of getting up, I mocked him in my head. I knew
where he was going and why he wanted me to come. We had told Kenny,
our neighbor, to stay away from our house, but he didn’t listen. He
kept coming back later and later in the night, knocking harder and
harder on our door. I don’t know why he didn’t just leave us
alone.
“This
is what animals do,” I said to Josh as I grabbed the long steel
knife with the wooden handle from the drawer. I felt the edge with my
thumb. It needed sharpening, but it would do for the time being.
“We
are animals,” Josh said in his strained voice.
I
closed the door behind us and said “that’s true.”
The
air was sticky and the sun was directly overhead. I hummed a song and
noticed that our shadows were nowhere to be seen.
Scott
Daughtridge
Knockemstiff
Donal
Ray Pollock