Enter your story of 300 words or less. |
The After Clouds WC 294 We look up into the afternoon sky; Ricky points to a cloud. “Looks like Jesus or maybe a bell.” My brother is ten—six years younger than me. I must protect him. “How about that one, Ricky?” “A dog, maybe. Yeah, a dog.” I am trying to take his mind off what is happening. “You guess one John.” He points to a cloud. “That one!” “Oh, I don’t know. That’s a hard one. Maybe an Indian’s arrow.” Ricky keeps looking back at the house and all the commotion. “What do you think it is, Ricky?” “Why did they have to die?” I knew I couldn’t keep him from asking the hard questions for very long. “I don’t know Rick. Things just happen.” Murder and suicide are hard to explain. The coroner’s wagon has just pulled away; the police have taped off the scene and are leaving; the lady from Child Protective Services is picking her was through our overgrown yard in her spike-heeled shoes. I want to mention how inappropriate those shoes seem at a time like this, but I don’t. Mrs. Dugan has the power. “Boys, it's time to go." She pats my brother on the head. “Didn’t you find our grandparents?” I ask. “We haven’t been able to locate them.” “I want my mom.” Ricky is crying. Mrs. Dugan guides him toward the driveway. I follow close behind. “As soon as we find your grandparents, they’ll come for you.” As we walk past the blood-spattered kitchen I point up at the sky as a diversion. “Ricky look!” He looks up. “What?” “I think it is Jesus!” My brother shakes his head, and gets into the back seat of Mrs. Dugan's Buick; I climb in behind him. |