kaolin fire presents :: writing :: fiction

"DeadThings.0"

words

http://www.stwa.net/scrawl/viewtopic.php?p=291258

"Did you kill something?"

Pat shifts in the sand uncomfortably. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but he expects it will just get him made fun of, now. "I--"

The other kids crowded around.

"No."

They clamor: "Wuss! Baby!"

There's a pile of dead things in front of him. Mostly bugs, though Timmy had brought a rat.

Tension is riding up his face, knocking against his eyes.

Bobby's holding something in front of him, but he can't quite make it out. "Here, kill this. Kill this."

Everyone's chanting, now: "Kill! Kill! Kill!"

He pushes away the hands, and pulls his backpack forward. Hands trembling, he fumbles with the zipper--it catches fabric, and he rips the fabric opening it.

In there, with his notebook and assorted crumpled papers, is his sister's favorite doll.

He pulls it out, in pieces, and drops them onto the pile.

Timmy speaks for the group--"That's not dead! You can't kill a doll!"

Echoes--"Patty plays with dolls, Patty plays with dolls!"

Now the tears come, and he ducks his head down towards his backpack and zips it closed, ignoring the hole along the seam.

He clasps the bag in his arms, and runs from the group. They follow, taunting, and other kids look up to see Pat running, head down, holding something, chased by his laughing, shouting friends.

Pat feels their eyes on him, all of them, and the tears come harder. His jaw aches with the pressure.

There's nowhere he can hide, nowhere he can--an opening--the bars are bent.

He tries--and squeezes, but he's stuck; stuck with the backpack and his chest compressed against the bars.

They've circled him, laughing, shouting.

Pat pushes the backpack away from him, and somehow it slides back into the schoolyard, and somehow he slides out away from them. He runs, leaving behind the embarassment, feeling the joy of exertion--

a honk.

a squeal.

and screams.