Straw House by Daniel Nayeri

Author:Daniel Nayeri [Nayeri, Daniel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: General Fiction
ISBN: 9780763660147
Publisher: Candlewick
Published: 2011-09-27T04:00:00+00:00

SUNNY STAMPED ACROSS the pasture with his sleeve up to his teeth, gnawing the straw like he was grinding cud. He spat the pulp and every once in a while hollered out, “Cotton . . . Aw, hell, cotton!”

The Growin’ Man’s camp had taken over the chicken coop, along with the entire dirt lot behind the red barn. All the livestock had scattered before the homuncular gang could dismember them like the three mice. The chickens, senseless, a few of them headless, still had wits enough to wheel around the barn to the farmhouse. They huddled under the porch, cooing to each other till the farmer’s daughter arrived to listen to their grief. By midday more and more toys had tucked themselves into the porch, as though it were the hem of a mother’s skirt. Dot, a true farmer’s daughter, wasn’t much for dresses or sympathizing and chose instead to settle the children down, then get back to work. But a few of the anxious toys were babies, just plucked from the rows last season. It would have been a sin to leave them alone, so Dot kept the three wind­up chicks, a rubber duckling, and a couple field mice shivering in her shirt pockets. She went out to the barn to search for any toys hiding in the hay bales, and Sunny went into the pasture, looking for the livestock. Neither of them had an answer for the Growin’ Man’s invasion, but if they lost the livestock, then there wasn’t any point to it anyhow.

Sunny kicked at the tall grass, missing Pup by a few inches. Pup was weaving in and out of his stride, leaping up to see above the grass line. He’d sniff and point with his muzzle in a different direction every ten feet, doing a cartoon impression of a hunting dog. The noonday sun was so bright, it made the boiling air drone in his ears and everything else sound far off. Sunny’d heard a long time ago of days so hot, the haystacks would spontaneously combust — moisture packed inside them would just roil up and catch fire.

Sunny tried not to think of himself as a pressure-packed straw house, bubbling inside with tears he wasn’t pansy enough to spill.

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