His Folks

Megan Draper

Winner of the Seitz Creative Writing Scholarship

MeganDraperisanativeMichigandermajoringincreativewritingandSpanish. She began at SVSU in Fall 2020. She’s been previously published in two teen anthologies put out by Owl Hollow’s Press, and she has won such awards as first place in the SVSU Veterans’ Day essay contest and two Scholastic Gold Keys. Megan’s also an editor for Cardinal Sins. When she’s not reading, she enjoys watching superhero movies and traveling abroad. She’s an active part of the SVSU writing community and can be found at www.authormeganriann.com.

This piece was originally written in Fall 2021 for Dr. C. Vince Samarco’s Creative Writing: Fiction (ENGL 306). Megan enjoyed experimenting with flash fiction, a form new to her although she kept with one of her favorite themes: sibling relationships. She says that this piece, like all that she’s created in the SVSU program, benefited greatly from in-class critiques and discussion.

Maria rocked back on her heels, letting her weight press into the soft earth. Mud squelched aroundher toesasifshewere another root, another fallen leaf,finding homeinitsmoisture.Yellow cake,the kindher uncle usually bakedfor birthdays,satheavyandsweet inher belly. Thenighttime mosquitos vibrated around her ankles below the hem of her black dress. She killed one that perched to dine on her wrist, but none of the others seemed to notice.

Ahead of her, lacerated by the ridged horizon, the sun plunged. Red scraped across the sky as though the sun had sliced its fingers trying to claw back up. Beside her, the color reflected more like orange in her sister’s eyes.

Maria said in her best imitation of a man’s voice, “Savor this sunset, folks. It may be the last one we’re ever blessed to see.”

“Don’t say that,” her sister snapped. She whirled, her brown features twisted into a snarl. “Don’t you ever say that!”

Maria’s back slammed against the ground. The earth did not feel so soft then. Her sister stood over her, fingers fixed like talons. In the on-its-way-to-dead light, the wild strays of her hair might have been snakes so that it was not her sister at all.

Maria stared up at the monster. Wet soil seeped through her black dress and hair until it felt like stale, cold blood.

“Don’t you fucking say that.” The monster let out a sob like a roar and its foot lashed out. Pain struck and spilled across Maria’sface. Her hands flew to her nose. This time the blood was warm and real. She blinked, but the tears came anyway. She stared at the monster, whose precious worn-only-for-weddings-and-funerals necklace mirrored the sky like fire. Its chest heaved.

Maria knew the words were last said by someone now dead. She’d heard them declared over sweet tea on the porch. Felt them in his warm arms pulling her into a hug. Smelled them in his favorite flannel shirt.

Never had the nightly saying set off such violence. When he had said them, it was laughter and promise. Where did the fury come from? Maria tried to find some of it in herself but couldn’t.

The original speaker was gone, so it only made sense that someone else should say goodbye to the day.

The monster turned away. Maria looked to the sunset, relishing how her tears blurred the colors together. There was no beginning and no end, and the reds and oranges and yellows and purples took turns owning the prized acreage of the sky.

“I’m sorry.” Her sister had returned. Fat tears gathered at her chin.

Maria stayed on the ground. The mud was shaped to her body now. Movement felt like it would break something. One remembered voice repeated cheerily in her mind. Savor this sunset, folks. It may be the last one we’re ever blessed to see. Savor this sunset, folks. It may be the last one we’re ever blessed to see…

“Mom and Nan can’t hear you say that,” her sister said. She wasn’t looking at the sunset. “It’ll make them upset, okay? Understand?”

Maria sniffed. It smelled like blood and lodged in her throat. She nodded and told herself it wasn’t a lie if she didn’t open her mouth. All she understood was that if she spoke, the monster would come back. She needed her sister too desperately right now to risk that.

“Good,” her sister said.

Maria swallowed the copper taste and let it sit in her gut alongside the yellow cake. A mosquito crawled up her neck, but she didn’t slap it. She didn’t even feel when it harvested its meal. It would be long vanished into the night by the time the itch would start and grow and scar. The sun let go of its last desperate hold on the horizon. Maria stored it in her heart like one of the old photographs in Nan’s black book. She would not say it out loud, but she would savor and savor and savor.