Barry pulled the pillow against his slobbering mouth and groaned. In the dream he rose wearily to his feet and advanced on the next bird, a large female that had fallen to her side in the long wet grass, her balance destroyed by disease.
Gently, but without kindness he gathered the rhea's body to him, a stinking, shivering bundle of disheveled feathers, and administered the lethal blow. The giant bird died almost instantly, her long neck flopping. Barry moved on in the dark dreamscape, a grim reaper, this was his father's nightmare actually, how was this happening?
In these situations not all of the flock will succumb at once, the latest e-mail detailed. Inconveniently, the healthy individuals end up being the hardest to dispatch. In addition, the species Rhea Americana is notable for the role that males play in raising the young, building elaborate nests in banked earth for the purpose of attracting females, sitting the eggs and fiercely defending their hatch. "Not like you did," he tried to tell his father in the dream, but Dad wasn't listening.
In the dream, they spread apart, walking the terrain separately for better coverage. Out of sight behind the rise of hill he was ascending, he could hear the sound of his sister popping caps as she moved systematically from nest to nest, Barry's 9mm jerking in her slim hand. But it was impossible, he'd just seen Krissy, asleep on the couch in front of his TV, the wine bottle emptied, on his way back from the bathroom. Still in the dream she opened circled wild eyes and stared at Barry, purple lips cracked and crusty. Krissy lifted herself to one elbow.
"Dad's gone ahead to get a forklift and the gasoline. Help me." In the dream the two of them tugged the heavy corpses of the dead rheas by their feathered scaly feet, heaping them on one of the hollowed hummocks that served as their nests. When it was done, they stopped and looked at each other, Barry sitting up suddenly in bed and feeling for his pistol in the sock drawer, Krissy popping on the TV from her position on the couch. After a few seconds, Barry staggered into the front room.
"Well. Is it true? Are they gone?" Krissy changed channels. Barry couldn't stand it when she looked at him that way. "How should I know?" But he hobbled to his desk, popping open the lid of his laptop and waiting for the wireless link to come up. This was so surreal.
"Dad--Are birds all dead? Pls confirm..." Barry typed, and then backspaced it out. "Dad, we dreamed that you had to put down the flock as you said. Is it true? It must have been awful. How is Senor Bozeman taking it? Love, Barry and Krissy" Krissy nodded approvingly and Barry pressed the Send button, the two of them huddled toward the tipped laptop screen as though expecting it to reveal an immediate response.
Gently, but without kindness he gathered the rhea's body to him, a stinking, shivering bundle of disheveled feathers, and administered the lethal blow. The giant bird died almost instantly, her long neck flopping. Barry moved on in the dark dreamscape, a grim reaper, this was his father's nightmare actually, how was this happening?
In these situations not all of the flock will succumb at once, the latest e-mail detailed. Inconveniently, the healthy individuals end up being the hardest to dispatch. In addition, the species Rhea Americana is notable for the role that males play in raising the young, building elaborate nests in banked earth for the purpose of attracting females, sitting the eggs and fiercely defending their hatch. "Not like you did," he tried to tell his father in the dream, but Dad wasn't listening.
In the dream, they spread apart, walking the terrain separately for better coverage. Out of sight behind the rise of hill he was ascending, he could hear the sound of his sister popping caps as she moved systematically from nest to nest, Barry's 9mm jerking in her slim hand. But it was impossible, he'd just seen Krissy, asleep on the couch in front of his TV, the wine bottle emptied, on his way back from the bathroom. Still in the dream she opened circled wild eyes and stared at Barry, purple lips cracked and crusty. Krissy lifted herself to one elbow.
"Dad's gone ahead to get a forklift and the gasoline. Help me." In the dream the two of them tugged the heavy corpses of the dead rheas by their feathered scaly feet, heaping them on one of the hollowed hummocks that served as their nests. When it was done, they stopped and looked at each other, Barry sitting up suddenly in bed and feeling for his pistol in the sock drawer, Krissy popping on the TV from her position on the couch. After a few seconds, Barry staggered into the front room.
"Well. Is it true? Are they gone?" Krissy changed channels. Barry couldn't stand it when she looked at him that way. "How should I know?" But he hobbled to his desk, popping open the lid of his laptop and waiting for the wireless link to come up. This was so surreal.
"Dad--Are birds all dead? Pls confirm..." Barry typed, and then backspaced it out. "Dad, we dreamed that you had to put down the flock as you said. Is it true? It must have been awful. How is Senor Bozeman taking it? Love, Barry and Krissy" Krissy nodded approvingly and Barry pressed the Send button, the two of them huddled toward the tipped laptop screen as though expecting it to reveal an immediate response.
Part V: "Son los mismos"
"Don't you have classes?" Barry asked his sister pointedly. Sometimes he could be such a shithead. Nothing except a chem lab and epidemiology. "...nothing," Krissy said. Her head ached from the bottle of wine she'd consumed. "I've got a public health clinic internship this afternoon. I'm thinking of cutting out."
"Oh, all right, Barry, fine. Don't be a nag. I'll go." Krissy turned to Katie Couric on the Today show. This was before the woman was made queen shit of everything. "Did you know her husband died of colon cancer?" Why was she feeling so bad today? Plus, she had to admit, the e-mail from Dad had just really weirded her out.
"Do you think he'll answer right away? It must be the middle of the night there." The dream of an hour before, apparently shared, had left them mutually uncertain and vulnerable, this question an offer to Barry.
"Silly. It's only three hours ahead. They're just waking up now. I'm sure we'll hear soon, probably about the time I get back from work." Barry sighed. "I'll try to get off early. What time are you at the clinic? I could pick you up."
Krissy cranked the volume. They were talking about what was happening in your neck of the woods. Still thunderstorms, a high chance of twisters across most of Kansas, eastern Nebraska, and on into Iowa. God I hope they don't touch down near anybody.
"I'll call you if I need a ride." Krissy lit another cigarette, thinking it might be possible to take away the tickle in her throat with smoke. "I hope your day ends up being good."
Barry snorted something angry about another day in a goddammed cardboard box. Singing a lot different tune since he'd dropped out of State to pursue a blue-collar career.
"No, seriously," Krissy said. "I'm just going to sit here for a while. I'm not feeling that well. At least try to have a good day at work." She turned her cheek away as Barry tried to kiss it, coughing theatrically as the door shut on his eventual departure.
She waited until it was clear he was not circling back and then locked the door. Barry kept the laptop in his underwear drawer, the power cord and rubberized transformer dangling from the front. She popped the thin screen upwards.
"B33v3r" she typed in. Barry was such a bad typist it was easy to scan his code as he moved his left index finger back and forth. Ah, there it was. Barry had Outlook set up the same way she did, only now he was connecting to gmail rather than the POP mail account Kansas.net had assigned them. Still nothing from Dad. That bothered her.
Plus, she had to admit, finding her brother's carefully sorted folders of internet porn just really weirded her out--after her first few tentative clicks opened an endless magenta-tinged slide show she reacted with amusement, an indulgence, a withdrawal of indulgence, profound lip-curling depression. Could Barry really hate himself that much?
"Oh, all right, Barry, fine. Don't be a nag. I'll go." Krissy turned to Katie Couric on the Today show. This was before the woman was made queen shit of everything. "Did you know her husband died of colon cancer?" Why was she feeling so bad today? Plus, she had to admit, the e-mail from Dad had just really weirded her out.
"Do you think he'll answer right away? It must be the middle of the night there." The dream of an hour before, apparently shared, had left them mutually uncertain and vulnerable, this question an offer to Barry.
"Silly. It's only three hours ahead. They're just waking up now. I'm sure we'll hear soon, probably about the time I get back from work." Barry sighed. "I'll try to get off early. What time are you at the clinic? I could pick you up."
Krissy cranked the volume. They were talking about what was happening in your neck of the woods. Still thunderstorms, a high chance of twisters across most of Kansas, eastern Nebraska, and on into Iowa. God I hope they don't touch down near anybody.
"I'll call you if I need a ride." Krissy lit another cigarette, thinking it might be possible to take away the tickle in her throat with smoke. "I hope your day ends up being good."
Barry snorted something angry about another day in a goddammed cardboard box. Singing a lot different tune since he'd dropped out of State to pursue a blue-collar career.
"No, seriously," Krissy said. "I'm just going to sit here for a while. I'm not feeling that well. At least try to have a good day at work." She turned her cheek away as Barry tried to kiss it, coughing theatrically as the door shut on his eventual departure.
She waited until it was clear he was not circling back and then locked the door. Barry kept the laptop in his underwear drawer, the power cord and rubberized transformer dangling from the front. She popped the thin screen upwards.
"B33v3r" she typed in. Barry was such a bad typist it was easy to scan his code as he moved his left index finger back and forth. Ah, there it was. Barry had Outlook set up the same way she did, only now he was connecting to gmail rather than the POP mail account Kansas.net had assigned them. Still nothing from Dad. That bothered her.
Plus, she had to admit, finding her brother's carefully sorted folders of internet porn just really weirded her out--after her first few tentative clicks opened an endless magenta-tinged slide show she reacted with amusement, an indulgence, a withdrawal of indulgence, profound lip-curling depression. Could Barry really hate himself that much?
"Dad," she entered, "It's Krissy.
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