(November 29, 2020)
yeah i dunno what to call this ignore the pickture its the chicago meatpackers i bet they be pakcing lol
how do you run out of ideas before you even take the first step, damon thought, sitting under a tree. just admit that you don't know what to do. they stood up and looked out to the endless sea of trees. just admit that you're not strong enough. you break under pressure. you're not strong enough to fight back.
they turned to look behind them. their house. they could see their mom on the front porch, knitting quietly. the family lived in the backwoods, miles away from the nearest town. damon was raised to appreciate the little things. but it never felt satisfying. they knew that everything they had was precious. but it was never enough. they closed their eyes, exhaled slowly, and began the trek up the dirt path that led home.
the road led two ways. forwards and backwards. forwards was home. they had no idea what was beyond the trees that blocked their view from the rest of the path.
"damon!" their mother's scream echoed through the forest. they walked faster.
they came up to the house, out of breath. "damon, you rotten boy! where ye been?" her southern accent was thick but it soundly completely normal to damon. damon looked up at her with a red face.
"i was just up by the ol' maple tree, ma" they were panting. it was so hot during the summer. when they weren't inside, the only shade came from the maple tree. it was the farthest away from the house that they were allowed. and it was still sometimes a stretch.
"pa says that a 'coon's been 'round at night. he wants ya to watch the chickens tonight. ya know we can't lose none of 'em right about now"
damon nodded. they hated it outside. it was cold and coyotes came up more often that not. "well, can i have the shotgun 'n case some coyotes come up er somethin'?" their mother gave them a look that said "are you stupid?".
"whatcha askin' me for? it's yer pa's shotgun. ask 'im. he's out back somewhere," she immediately resumed knitting. damon took the hint and dropped the conversation. they walked around to the back of the house. there was the man of the hour, sweating in the afternoon sun, chopping logs for firewood.
"pa?" damon called out in a louder voice than they normally use.
he brought the axe down a final time and split the wood down the center. he wiped the sweat off of his brow but it was no use. hies entire body was drenched with sweat. "time for dinner?" damon shook their head.
"no, ma said i gotta watch the chickens in case some coon comes up."
their father nodded. "what about it?"
damon took an unsure step further. "i was just wonderin' if i could borrow your shotgun. there's coyotes around and i ain't about to get eat alive." their father chuckled softly. his expression hardened and he stared at damon with a loveless glare.
"you better only use it if you gotta. you hear me? if you waste any of my bullets, i'll string ye up by yer neck 'n leave ye for the hounds."
damon hesitated but chose to stand their ground. they nodded. it was settled.
