A little short I wrote at the last minute for FridayFlash. I’ve got about 15 minutes in it so let me know if you catch anything i should hang my head over.
By Jason Warden
The dead boy watches from a distance as the men lower the box that holds his earthly remains into the ground. He thinks it’s likely what they found out there in the field has already been taken to the incinerator or has simply been thrown out with the other biohazard material. He watches, hoping only that his mother has not seen what they found out there. That she refused to look, or they refused to show. He doesn’t think she can handle the truth of what has happened to him.
He is watching her, trying to see if she knows, if she has seen, but she gives away nothing but racking sobs as his dad holds her close to his chest and smothers her cries into his body. But his eyes are dry, and not,the boy sees, focused on the service, the casket, or even his mother. He is looking toward the trees where the boy crouches as if suspecting the eyes that are upon him. The boy shivers and tries to make himself even smaller behind the copse of trees. He wills the truth to not be so plain.
Hands clasp his shoulders, and the boy nearly screams under their fierce grip.
“Come, it’s time.”
“Where?” he asks, but as the white face looms toward him in answer, its mouth works, the jawbones like small pistons in the engine of destruction, and he sees the fangs that mirror his own newer ones.
“Time to feed.”
The boy begins to whimper, but then realizes his stomach has been rumbling ever since he hunkered to watch.