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LEACH TREACH
It was choking and wet, oozing its internal parts onto the patch of dirt under the tree it fell from. Red matter coated the downy feathers and the ants had already begun to make a feast of the downed creature. They had come upon it walking to the clubhouse - more aptly the abandoned shed forgotten in the local woods, filled with boyish contraband: a porn mag blown from the dumpster of a corner store, a shared teal Gameboy, a warm beer swiped from a father’s basement stash. The boys crouched down to inspect the bird. One boy grabbed a stick and poked the bleeding mass. It twitched, disturbing the line of ants feasting on its eye. The other boy took a step away from the bird and his friend, suggesting silently that there were more important and less unsettling, things they could be doing at the shed. He didn’t notice it, and the clammy boy took another step back. His friend turned to him, stick still in hand, and told him they had to kill it - it was the merciful thing to do. A large rock nearby suddenly became very visible, unbearably in the nervous boy’s peripheral. He didn’t move at all; he just watched as the other struggled to carry the stone to the bird, taking note of the sweat forming on his brow and the way his arms had stiffened. He had looked grown.
The bird didn’t make a noise. He thought it would have a bony crunch or squish, but the only sound was the impact on the dirt below. His stomach felt uneasy, not because of the bird but something else. Standing above the bird was his friend, looking for a response. Impatient he started to lift the heavy tomb, fingertips too close to the carnage unseen.
God out of his head. It had made him flustered, warm in the face, and nervous. His senses were heightened, and looking into his friend's face, which had seemed ever so slightly more mature, was causing his heart to race in a way only the dusty Playboy his friend had presented to him the week before had. A mixture between shame and excitement, brought on by the death of the small animal.
IfIceasetoexistforone instantandbegintoexist in the very next, is that still me? How many instants can stand between me and me before we are two different people? If we exist both at the same time do the inches between us constitute a newpersonhood,oramI stillmeafewfeettothe left?
Thank you to my cat David Michael Thomas, as well as my high school Englishteacher,DavidMichaelThomas