‘Go!’ my brother screams, ‘Go!’

     Go where? I wonder, but bullets are flying past. Away, I guess. I am still processing Bro firing the gun and the cop lying straight down, like a movie. I can see my face in the SUV’s mirror, eyes like window panes and a smoky smear on my cheek. Least I don’t look like a pretty- boy fag no more. Sirens wail behind us and we’re speeding through ripples of blue light. Because a spark jumped an inch of darkness and made us guilty. If I drive fast enough, maybe we’ll shoot into another dimension, a bubble where nothing happens just because something else did.

     Bro watched it over and over on TV. The first few times, my brain expanded like that dirty cloud bulging over the street. People stopping to look, taking a second to figure out they should run. Bro was bouncing round, yelling, ‘Death to the kuffar!’ He gets that Arab shit of stuff he sees on YouTube. I smoked my weed. Bystanders twisted in a metal fence, like someone screwed them up and threw them away. TV was talking about arms and legs getting blown off and that put pictures in my mind. I kept it on, the sunshine and the moment everything stopped being normal forever and the cloud rose again. The fifteenth time I saw it, I felt empty. A freaking manure factory in Texas did more damage than we did.

     No place to go but on. Bro leans out the window and throws something. It booms and the night turns orange but I don’t even twitch. We’re a dog running from a tin can tied to its own tail. Somewhere that cloud is rising for the hundredth time. And it wasn’t worth it, wasn’t worth it, wasn’t worth jack shit.

Sign up to our Mailing List

Sign up to receive communications from Creative Future, including opportunities, updates on activities and more.

Scroll to Top