Blotterature Literary Magazine, Vol. 4 Issue 1 PROP!

Sonya squinted. “You’re insane.”

“We all are.”

“It’s all in your head.”

“All of it. Manifested. All the same.” Cyrus tapped his forehead.

Tears traced Sonya’s cheeks. She often wept for the kids on television, the ones whose faces housed flies. Sometimes she sent them money. Pity filled and stung her eyes like the sulfur from onions, but she remembered the lasagna in the oven. “Kindly send him home if he comes here. Please.”

“Okay.”

Sonya turned to leave. “Can’t you see?” Cyrus clapped and tapped his foot.

“Houses, roads, walls and roofs beyond. All of it. Your son knows. Someday he’ll grow to know he knows.”

“What?”

“He helped me build my house.” Cyrus cackled.

Sonya repeated the conversation in her mind. She washed dishes and watched the news. All the while she thought of Cyrus. She dried her hands. Behind her, the television in the living room flashed images of another oil spill.

Glen hauled toys and piled them in the living room. He sorted and tossed the toys into boxes. Three boxes were already filled with aliens, robots, and superheroes. Glen pushed those beside the television. Then he returned to the large pile. He knelt and plucked a few more toys: A bulldozer and tractor flew in front of the television and into an empty box. “I’m big now.”

Sonya leaned against the wall. “You sure?” On the television behind Glen, black clouds billowed from burning buildings. Ships dumped trash into the ocean. “If you’re sure, you’re sure.” She knew he would unseal the boxes before the week was over.

“But don’t throw them away, yet.” He stood and tossed two tanks and a boat into another box.

Sonya’s head bobbed. “I’ll keep them forever. It’s summer. You’ll have lots of time on your hands. Lots of time to decide. Don’t grow up too fast.”

“Okay, Mom.” “You full?”

“I’m full.”

“Dessert?” On the television, children marched across a desert, swinging machetes and touting AK-47s.

“I’m good.” He tossed handfuls of green soldiers into the box and knelt for yellow and orange water guns.

“I know.” The children mounted pickup trucks. “Go check if the doors are locked.”

“Okay.”

Sonya couldn’t believe the news. A twisting, spiraling world. She turned and peered through the kitchen window but was startled by the children firing AK-47s at the sky. The rifles sounded like hammers pounding nails into concrete. Outside was twilight, and by a trick of the setting sun, something glimmered beyond the yard. For a moment, Sonya saw a house. Cyrus was walking towards the trees, and Sonya raised her hand. She considered waving at him, opening the window and yelling for him, inviting him to some food and beer. When Cyrus turned and saw her opening palm, he smiled and nodded. Sonya frowned and tapped the window’s latch.

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