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because as quick as the slap was given, Robert ran down the hill. I could see his platinum hair making its way into the forest, and soon I had to squint to see him.
“Robert!” I shouted, setting down the piglet and racing out the door.
As one foot leaped over the other, my body jolted backwards, and the neck of my shirt choked out my shouts. Metal tapped at the back of my head; Uncle Randy pushed the barrel forward just a bit more.
“Now, Michael, you be a good boy and head on back to the shed. Those pigs need to be taken care of.”
“But Robert—,” my voice croaked, as Uncle began to drag my body back.
“Robert ain’t nothin’ but a damn menace. Bein’ trouble to your ma and all.”
“He ain’t trouble, Uncle Randy, he just got autism, that’s all. Mama knows and she loves him ver—”
The barrel of Uncle Randy’s gun collided with the back of my head and I fell to my knees. I knew that if I didn’t want a good beating from Randy, I would have to
Blue Moon
Laney Etheridge
Painting—acrylic
do what he told me, so I made my way back to the shed to slaughter that piglet.
Those innocent beaded eyes peered up like a child to my looming stature; the rifle pressed against my shoulder and my finger danced with the trigger. The piglet didn’t know any better, it didn’t understand the detrimental effects this had for the both of us. As soon as the barrel of the gun settled between its eyes, my own grew clouded, and the rifle felt too strong against my weakening body; I wanted to throw it and charge into those woods. However, as I felt Uncle Randy’s body loom behind me, the nerves in my body tensed and my finger clutched the trigger.
BAM!
I couldn’t bear to sleep that night, grasping the hope that I’d hear Robert’s laugh or feel him toss in the bed beside me. As the night air began to close my eyes, I heard coyotes calling out in those woods. That night I dreamt that Robert was one of them, one of them carnal predators running free, dodging in between towering trees and being the man of his own tribe.
That morning nothing was ever heard about Robert, and things stayed the same forever on. I wonder what story Uncle Randy told Mama, but whatever it was, I know I gotta be the man of the house; the truth would only hurt Mama more.r
Cow
Brighton Hutchinson
Drawing—pencil