D is for Dinosaur by Alexandra Seidel

Author:Alexandra Seidel [Parrish, Rhonda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Poise and Pen Publishing
Published: 2020-02-13T07:00:00+00:00

M is for Mentation

KV Taylor

Stomped ants littered the cement front stoop. Weeds sprouted from cracks on the sidewalk below, some temporarily flattened by the same boot that had squished the ants. The weeds would spring back. Unlike the ants.

Judy examined the bugs, wondering what had brought them to this unfortunate doorstep. A search for food, probably. Everything in the wild seemed to boil down to the search for food—fuel for life. Some nights, Judy could understand that. When she did the bad thing (that she didn’t think was bad), Dad made her go a whole day without food. Sometimes longer. It was easy to lose track since Dad had nailed the plywood over her window. She’d loosened a corner so she could peek, but it wasn’t enough.

Judy turned her face to the sun. The tiny trailers and scrubby, scorched earth beyond disappeared, leaving just her and the clear, blue sky. The light warmed her skin. Also fuel for life.

Poor ants. She shouldn’t think about it or the bad thing might happen but it wasn’t fair—they’d only been trying to exist. All the warmth bled out of her suddenly, and Judy sighed. When she looked down, the ants were scurrying busily around.

“Judy!”

She winced at the sound of Dad’s voice, harsh and cold as a winter night.

“You want dinner, get in here!”

Judy stood, careful of the ants, and entered the trailer. The screen door smacked behind her, the linoleum floors squeaked, and a loose bit caught on her pink Velcro sandal. A cockroach escaped from beneath the tile, skittering toward the kitchen table.

Dad’s workbook crushed it. “Goddamn creepy-crawlers. Whole place is infested.”

Judy didn’t look up past his knees. She never did, if she could help it. His eyes were always full of fear that turned to hate because he liked to kill and she liked things to live, and she was better at hers than he was at his.

Dad moved to the counter to grab the loaf of white bread with a clown face on it. Judy thought hard, what little warmth she’d regained since bringing the ants back dissipated and the formerly crushed cockroach stood and skittered away.

Dad paused, loaf in hand and the tops of his ears turned pink.

She prepared herself with a deep breath. It felt like her heart was going too fast, like it’d explode and send blood shooting everywhere. Run, little bug, run.

Dad turned slowly, movements controlled, but his knuckles were white, fingers crushing into the bread like a soft toy. “Where’s the creeper?”

Judy fixed her gaze to the table.

Dad threw the bread; it hit the wall with a dull fwap and a crinkle of plastic, then bounced to the table. Dad took two steps in the direction of the torn linoleum, then squatted to examine it.

He had three days of stubble and black circles under his eyes. The whites were going yellow day by day, yellow like the whisky in his plastic jugs. They were darker than last time Judy had looked at them, maybe two weeks ago.

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