The Meadow Annual Literary Arts Journal 2022

134 The Meadow the favor, or maybe shoot their parents with his paintball gun. But he wouldn’t tell me; he only petted each chicken, adjusted the heat lamps in the corners. He was really annoying, sometimes. That night, I stood on my bed and watched my brother and Mary at the barbed wire fence. She was absent for a couple days, but now they were back at it. I wondered what curses he used with her? She used with him? Then it got too dark, and I still was wondering if you could pick up a dream where you left it? Was it on the floor, waiting for you to walk over it, for you to peer down into it’s supposed confinements, smiling for another round or continuation? I thought I heard the chickens squawking, faraway, on another shore, another island, another country, another planet; the dock was still there, but the catfish were gone. Rain was actual rain, not salt and vinegar chips, and that frightened me. The next morning, I watched Tom and Jerry chase and escape each other through a kitchen, underneath a set of table legs, out an open door, around the corner of yellow, cream colored house with red shutters. Jerry managed to escape by diving into a hole amongst the grass, which triggered a spring that launched an egg into Tom’s face. It seeped down his whiskers, revealing his annoyed and thwarted face. Jerry fell over laughing, holding his tummy. I didn’t blame him; it was funny. I did feel bad, though, for Jerry; that poor cat. My brother sat down next to me. He kept nudging me with his elbow, so finally I turned to him and raised an eyebrow. He nodded to the front yard. I wondered if we had got attacked again, but then I remembered his secret plan. He muted the TV and led the way outside. It was still early. The sun was fully over the horizon, but since it was Sunday, everyone was still sleeping. He walked to our mailbox, which was next to our neighbor’s, and leaned against their chain link fence. I followed

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