Boys in Gilded Cages

by Jarod Powell

  After Lloyd and Sally were in bed, Kenneth punched a sleeping Trent in the chest. Trent woke, coughing.

  “Shut the fuck up,” Kenneth said. “You’re keeping me awake tonight.”

  “Why?”

  “Your cocksucker father gave me a concussion. You know what will happen if you don’t do it.”

  At 2a.m., Lloyd went to work. Sally left with her girlfriend, probably to score but she said to go get cigarettes at the 24-hour place in Sikeston. Kenneth was asleep on the couch. Trent nodded at Dani, and she knocked him out cold with the filthy frying pan. Just then, Toby came in with the lawnmower gas.

  Match lit.

  Toby, Trent and Dani walked County Road 508 for thirty minutes before they returned. They talked about what town they would move to next. They talked about what church would be like in the new town. They talked about going to private school.

  It was all fantasy, and even little children know the truth, before adults strip it away from them, only to replace it with a bunch of confusion and responsibility and drama.

  But tonight, the kids ran the house. Tonight, they had their way. As Kenneth McAdams, engulfed in fire, cried out, they rejoiced, not caring what they had become.

  ERIC’S PEN STOPS WORKING

  Dear Hawthorn:

  Goodbye. So long. Nice to know you. You’re all idiots. The end hasn’t come yet, but it’s near. Daddy Redmond says it’s because of our own doing. He’s right. We didn’t invite magic to take over. We stood by while it conspired to quietly overcome us. I would like to think in my remaining moments that I beat it to the punch. Please let me serve you, not a manifesto, or a diary, and don’t you dare think of this as a hallucination, but as a prediction. Every time the weatherman calls for a tornado, know that your number could be up. Trees will be uprooted, and so will what’s left of your minds. Your homes will evaporate. Wal-Mart parking lots may even go empty. Wish it wasn’t so, but you didn’t listen.

  You could still turn it around.

  Lean outside your porches, and put your ear to the wind. Listen to the cries of your town’s heroes. Know how they suffer. Know that they suffer so that your vicious, hollow heads could be enlightened.

  I’m leaving you now to your own devices.

  Break the circle, Monkeys. And leave it broken, or die. It’s up to you.

  Sincerely

  Eric Redmond

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Jarod Powell is a native of Saint Louis, Missouri, and has written three books, as well as directed and produced several films taking place in his home state. He is currently writing and is set to play the lead role in the feature film Ferguson, which is a fictional film based on the recent events in Ferguson, Mo.

  Find out more, and interact with Jarod at his public Facebook page: http://www.facebook.com/iamjarodpowell