***
9/13
“Dead.”
Gauss Anne
was sitting again at Alphus’s small kitchen table. She was on a break from
counting snowflakes, and Alphus had told her the story of his first pet and of
his sister and of other things he was missing. “Were they making it okay? Are
they on their way back?” he wanted to know.
“They’re
dead, Alphus.” Gauss Anne told him.
“I don’t
know what you mean.”
“Dead!”
She grabbed
a spatula and took him over to the radiator where he had an infestation of
black beetles. She swung at them.
“Dead.” She
struck several beetles in one go. Some had their exoskeletons fracture
completely, and their legs splayed evenly out to the sides. Others, that had
only been partially hit, struggled limply, half their bodies pinned to the
carpet.
She kept
swinging,
“Dead.
“Dead.
“Dead.”
This wasn’t
all that informative. She tried to explain, “When things die, they don’t come
back, Alphus. You lose them. Do you understand me?” She rested and looked up at
him. His hands were up around his head, and he trembled.
“No. I
don’t understand.”
“I guess
it’s complicated.”
“But… I
can’t stand it.”
“You’ll get
used to it. Even though you know about death, now, you’ll forget that it
happens. Everybody does.”
“I don’t
think so….”
“Here,
would you like a try?” She said, handing him the spatula.
At first he
took it hesitantly and then repositioned his grip more with more purpose.
Whack! Hard, he came down on the beetles.
“Ah!” he
screamed, looking shocked at the most recent splatter of beetle guts. “I think
you’d better go” he told Gauss Anne.
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