Page 117 of Lucky 14

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

Age 7

Timmy from school says monsters aren’t real.

No one says it, but we all know Timmy is a little stupid. Of course they’re real.

I look around the pillar onto the porch. Dad’s chair is empty, just like the chairs for my brothers. The crickets sing, which makes me suck in a breath. Crickets don’t sing if there are monsters around. Doesn’t Timmy know about the cricket rule?

I would tell him, but school let out a few days ago. That’s when someone came to the house, and when they left, Dad got really mad. His face got all red, and he threw things around the house. He didn’t hit me this time. I’m getting faster.

I know when Dad gets this mad to leave. I go stay with the neighbor's chickens until Dad calms down. This time, he said if I came back, he’d kill me.

Dried chicken poop feels like chalk. It looks like it, too, all over my clothes, and it looks so white in the moonlight. I try to wipe it off so Dad doesn’t know where I’ve been. A few months ago, he got mad and hurt my arm so badly that I had to go to the hospital. They asked if I was safe at home, which was a weird question. Dad says everyone is trying to take me from him. That they aren’t good people, and I’ll only be safe with him.

It’s dark out now, the shadows around the house the perfect size for monsters to hide in. This morning, Weston caught me poking around by the creek. He smiled at me, but when he grabbed my shoulder, it hurt. It always hurts when he smiles. He said, “Dinner tonight, on the porch.”

My stomach grumbles, and I glance around the yard again, but that’s when I see it. A plate of food. The wind shifts, bringing the smell of summer grass and…meat. Immediately, my shoulders loosen, and I drool. I’m so hungry.

Forgetting fear, I run up to grab the food.

“What did I tell you, boy?” a dark voice growls.

Jumping, I turn to face the voice. Dad is standing in the dark doorway, and I smell the cigarette smoke. He must be drinking. There’s also something long in his hand.

Gun.

I don’t think, I just snatch the plate of food and run. An explosion blasts behind me, making my ears ring. Some of the food falls off my plate, and I plant my hand flat over the top of it and run. I run as fast as I can until I taste blood in my mouth.

When I make it back, I run into the coop and shut the door, latching it behind me. When I get inside, the chickens blink their beady eyes at me in confusion, fluffing up their feathers. They look tired, and that makes me feel better.

Chickens are scared of monsters. They’d be scared if monsters were here. You know who isn’t scared of monsters? Superheroes.

Only then do I eat. I dig into what food is left, and when it’s gone, I lick the plate clean. It was so good, like the chicken that Dad’s girlfriend used to make.

I look at the birds around me, and my tummy gets twisty.

I sink into the darkness, but I don’t sleep. Instead, I think about what I would look like in a cape and how I’d fly into a pizza store and save them from a monster. And in return, they’d give me as much free pizza as I wanted. No chicken. In my universe, we don’t eat chicken. Just pepperoni.

I tie the rope of grass I’ve woven around the sticks holding the roof over my fort. I’m getting pretty good at braiding the grass. It barely even cuts my fingers anymore.

It’s getting dark out, and I check the yellow watch Waylon got me. He said it was special and to never take it off. It has a chip on the side, but I still love it. I feel big, like Dad.

One night, after Dad left food for me, it was trash day. I stole from the neighbors, but they shouldn’t throw away so much food. Why do they throw away so much food? I got a whole apple and the ends of some bread. The ends are good. And I did it at night so they wouldn’t see me, always at night. I spend my days at the creek. It’s been five days since I slept in my bed.

Once it’s dark, I sneak back to the coop. As I’m settling in, the smell of cigarette smoke drifts in on the wind, and I jerk straight up. Peeking through the loose board, I scan the area. It’s quiet and dark.

I tried sleeping in my fort, but the wind whipped through the sticks and made it sound like a monster was crying. It’s been two days. I feel bad, but I steal the chicken’s eggs too. They cluck and cry, but I’m hungry.

I cry when I eat their babies.

The smell of smoke gets stronger.

“Little brotherrrrr.”

I jump. It’s Weston.

“Where could he be?” There’s a smack on the chicken coop that makes me jump, and the chickens flutter in alarm. They start running around.