~m.m. keating~

His mom drove him there; he was five minutes early. I took the bus; I was five minutes late. His hair was still waist length, gently brushing against the skinny jeans that hugged his waist. He's stolen one of his mom's tank tops, thinking it makes him look older and thinking that's a good thing. I wore a pair of corduroys a size too big and a grandfather sweater two sizes too big. He probably doesn't think it's cool, but he will.

He tells me about his two best friends, how they'll be bridesmaids in his future wedding and how they'll all go to the same college one day. I ask him how he can be so sure, not bearing to tell him how they'll show their true colors in just a few years time. He asks me why we look so different, why our hair is short and skin covered in ink. He thought we hated bugs, so why are there creepy crawlies permanently drawn on our body. I tell him that a lot is going to happen before he goes to college. He'll want to change the way he is perceived when he realizes he's been perceiving himself incorrectly this whole time. He'll soon realize he can't be the perfect daughter when he's meant to be a son this whole time.

He doesn't believe me and changes the subject. He asks about life at CalPoly, if I've gotten any internships yet. I tell him I'm a poet at a school he's never heard of. He doesn't quite believe me when I say I've abandoned political science to become an anarchist, how I use writing to keep my feet steady through the rising flood of fascism. I'm not sure he knows what fascism means, but he nods along anyway.

One month ago exactly, I set out to rewrite the original Jeff the Killer story to try and get myself out of writer's block. Presently, my edition is almost double the original length while somehow keeping the plot as 1:1 as possible. Below is my final draft; enjoy :)

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The Meadowlark Post

UNIDENTIFIED KILLER STILL AT LARGE.

After several weeks of unexplained murders, the unknown attacker continues to evade law enforcement. However, a recent survivor of these attacks has given law enforcement hope for an eventual arrest. The parents of the young boy have consented to sharing his account with The Meadowlark Post.

"I was having a bad dream," says the boy, "and it woke me up. My window was open, even though it was closed when I fell asleep. I got up to shut it before going back to bed. But I couldn’t sleep; it felt like someone was watching me. I rolled over and that's when I saw him. He was standing in a dark corner and at first all I could see was his eyes. They didn’t have any color in them and the white part was black. I tried to look away, but that’s when I saw his mouth. It was red with yellow teeth. He had a really big smile, like a crazy person.

"After what felt like forever, he finally talked. He said, 'Shhh, go to sleep,' and I screamed. He pulled out a knife, and his smile got bigger. He jumped on top of my bed, trying to stab me over and over again. I tried to fight back and kept screaming. That's when my dad busted in. The man threw the knife hard and it went into my dad's shoulder. The man probably would've killed him, if police cars weren’t outside.

"They drove into the driveway and kicked down the door. The man turned and ran down the hallway and I heard him smash a window. When I came out of my room, I saw the window that was pointing towards the backyard was broken. From the window, I watched the man run into the woods." The boy’s parents told The Meadowlark Post how their son has been experiencing recurring nightmares since the incident. “It’s those eyes,” they said. “He hasn’t gotten those eyes out of his head.”

The identity of the killer is still under investigation by county and state police. If you have any information, please contact your local police department.

…

The sun beat down on the backs of the Woods family as they hauled boxes into their new home. Peter Woods, the ever-loving husband and proud father of two sons, was often required by the U.S. military to relocate across city and state lines. He felt badly for his sons, who never seemed to properly socialize with kids their own age. Peter wished that Jeff and Liu would complain about leaving their friends behind and cry like it was the end of the world, but every move simply came with a huff and hastily packed suitcase. Jeff and Liu had quietly chatted the whole drive. What would the new house look like? How big was the backyard? Whose room would be bigger? The pair ran inside as soon as the car was parked. They begged their mom to let them run around and explore, but she insisted they bring everything inside before any fun could begin. As they trekked from the U-Haul to the front door and back, a woman approached from across the street.

"Hi!" the woman called out. "I'm Barbara! I live across the street from you.” Margaret Woods set down the box in her arms and wiped the sweat from her brow.

“Hello! I’m Margaret and this is my husband Peter,” she gestured to her husband behind her, who waved enthusiastically from the front door. “And these are my two sons, Jeff and Liu.” The brothers slowly backed away from their mother, nodding to Barbara with the mixture of timidity and disinterest.

Barbara looked pleased at the mention of the young boys. “Oh, how wonderful! There are lots of kids their age in this neighborhood. You know, my son, Billy– Billy!” She called to her son, playing in her front yard with three other boys. He stopped in his tracks at the mention of his name, turned towards the Woods’s house and began jumping up and down, as if to make a show of himself. One of his playmates, still running, tackled him to the ground. The two boys erupted into laughter. “Billy,” Barbara continued to Margaret, “is having a big birthday party in a couple weeks. He’s turning 10, so it's going to be a big occasion. You all should come! It would be a great way to meet the other families in the area.” Jeff and Liu exchanged worried expressions, but before they could object their mother had already accepted the offer. The mothers chatted for a few minutes before parting ways.

After another hour of moving boxes from outside to indoors and from the foyer to their respective rooms, Jeff approached his mother.

"Mom, why would you invite us to some kid's party? If you haven't noticed, I'm not some dumb kid."

"Jeffery Woods," replied his mother, "we do not talk about other people that way.”

“But–”

“No buts. We just moved here and we are going to put in some effort into meeting new people. That party will be a great opportunity for all of us.” Her voice was stern, cold. Jeff knew not to talk back when she spoke that way. He slunk away to his new room, boxes piled high along the walls. His mattress was still bare and the old, pilly cotton of the topper itched against his legs as he sat down. He sat there, staring into nothingness, when suddenly he registered the tightness growing in his chest. He likened it to a bumblebee buzzing around in his ribcage, thumping against the bone. The feeling was small enough to brush off, with Jeff dismissing it as a result of the unfamiliar Montana heat. His eyes came back into focus and suddenly he realized Liu was standing in his doorway. Liu’s smile didn’t reach his eyes when his brother acknowledged him. There was a silent understanding between the two of them, and Jeff followed his brother downstairs for dinner.

Jeff couldn’t decide if the next day came too early or didn’t come soon enough. Even though late May had already brought the summer heat, he and Liu were still required to attend school. He let his cereal get soggy, pushing his spoon back and forth, as he thought about meeting–or more accurately, tolerating–his fellow students. Getting lost in the milky vortex, the buzzing returned. There were more bumblebees, around two or three, and it felt like they were stinging this time. They were dismissed as first day jitters. Once Liu had finished his breakfast, Jeff discarded his bowl. Their father gave them his classic new school pep talk, one that made Jeff’s eyes roll. He embraced his sons tightly while their mother looked on with a sweet smile and crossed arms. 

Walking to the bus stop, Jeff scanned his surroundings with sharp eyes. Hopefully, he and Liu would be the only two at their bus stop and, hopefully, not many kids would be on their bus at all. The pair sat on the warm sidewalk, the sun already high in the sky. Jeff glanced at Liu, his expression withdrawn, with a hint of fear. The only people Jeff and Liu could rely on were each other. They protected each other and, as his older brother, Jeff taught Liu how to protect. Suddenly, bits of pavement flew into Jeff’s eyes. A kid had ollied right in front of him, kicking up loose asphalt in Jeff’s direction. “What the hell?!”

The kid cackled, kicking his skateboard into his hands before turning to face the brothers. He looked about twelve, only a year younger than Jeff. The kid wore his maroon polo shirt with the collar popped and his blue skinny jeans looked like they could rip with one wrong move.

"Well, well, well. It looks like we got some new meat." Two other boys appeared behind him, clearly having jogged to catch up to the speed of the skateboard. Skateboard kid, as Jeff now thought of him, spoke with a thick and obviously fake New Jersey accent. Jeff couldn’t help but think of The Sopranos, that show his parents never let him watch, but that he would always watch from around the corner or on top of the stairs. He really enjoyed it when it was on, but seeing how clearly inspired this kid was by the same show just made the buzzing stronger.

"Since you're new here, I think it’s about time we introduce ourselves. Over there is Keith.” Skateboard kid used his thumb to point to the kid on his left. He towered above all four of them, his limbs long and gangly. Jeff couldn’t help but notice how large his hands were, letting his mind wander to how much impact he would have in a single punch. "And he's Troy." The boy to his right was still panting from the earlier sprint. Sweat made his ill-fitting shirt cling even tighter to his torso, and his reddened skin made him more akin to a tomato than a young boy. Jeff thought he looked like a bowling ball, capable of barreling through anything in his path.

"And I," Skateboard kid gestured theatrically towards himself, "am Randy.” Skateboard kid or, as Jeff now knew him, Randy, gave a dramatic pause, as if holding for applause. When Jeff and Liu merely stared at him blankly, he continued. “Now, all the kids in this neighborhood know there is a small price for bus fare, if you catch my drift." Randy stepped forward, leaning down slightly to more effectively meet their gaze. His eyes were menacing, overconfident, and had a flicker of violence. Unfortunately for the three bullies, Jeff had more than just a flicker. Surprising everyone, though, was Liu, who was now standing with mere inches between himself and Randy. His eyes were filled with fire and Jeff could tell he was working up the courage to sock Randy in the jaw. However, Liu’s fire quickly extinguished with the soft shink of an opening switchblade. The small knife in Keith’s hand glittered in the sunlight, calling to Jeff.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, I had hoped you’d be more cooperative, but it seems we must do this the hard way." Randy shoved Liu to the ground and wrenched the few dollars Liu was clutching in his hands away from him. Earlier, while Jeff had been mesmerized by his milk, his mother had placed five dollars on the counter for each of her sons. He hadn’t realized before they left, so Liu had an iron grip on both of their lunch money. Now, Liu was laying on the side of the road, holding back tears. Jeff’s chest lit up again. The bees were doubling, tripling, quadrupling. There was a whole swarm and they were setting him ablaze from the inside out, as if his ribs were coated in napalm and each flap of their wings was a spark. By the time he finally stood up, the fire had spread to every corner of his body. Liu grabbed at his ankle in an effort to pull him back, but Jeff pulled himself away and towards Randy.

"Give my brother his money back." Despite the fire inside him, Jeff’s voice was remarkably cold. Unphased, Randy sneered and revealed a blade of his own. Troy, in turn, crouched into a wrestling stance. It was clear to Jeff that he was the only member of the group without a weapon, instead choosing to throw around his body weight as a form of attack.

"Oh?" Randy began to turn in a circle, flashing a cocky smile to his cronies. “And what are you going to do–” As soon as he turned back to Jeff, Randy stumbled backwards, Jeff landing a punch directly on his nose. Before Randy could reach for his bleeding face, Jeff grabbed his wrist and twisted it. The crunch of his bones echoed in Jeff’s ears, before being quickly drowned out by Randy’s screams. His knife tumbled to the ground as he cried and wailed for his mother. Troy and Keith simultaneously rushed towards Jeff, not able to bear the idea of abandoning their leader. Even with both of them, Jeff knew he had nothing to worry about. He ducked down, lunged for Randy’s fallen knife, and planted it firmly into Keith’s arm.

With both Keith and Randy crying pathetically, Jeff turned to Troy. He couldn’t help but smirk as he watched the color drain from Troy’s face, his hands beginning to tremble. Jeff landed a singular punch to his stomach before Troy doubled over and joined his friends on the burning road. Now sitting up, Liu had watched the whole incident with his mouth agape.

"Jeff…" he started, shakily. “Jeff, how did y–” Liu was cut off. In the distance, the brothers could hear the distinctive squeal of bus tires. It was slowly pulling itself up the hill, completely unaware of what awaited it at the top. Without another word, the two began sprinting back to their new home. They knew the three boys would blame the whole incident on them and a bus full of kids watching them run guiltily down the hill wouldn’t help their case. Once they made it to their driveway, the brothers stopped dead in their tracks. Their parents were still home. If they were to go back inside, Jeff and Liu would be forced to explain what had happened. They would need to tell them why they had missed the bus, why Liu’s elbows were scraped, why there was light blood splatter staining Jeff’s white hoodie. Would their parents believe them? After their history? Defeated and fearful, Liu began to approach the door. Jeff placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

“C’mon. We’ll just walk to school,” Jeff declared.

“Are you sure?” Liu replied, looking up at his brother. His voice stopped short; Jeff was grinning manicly. Liu could tell his brother was teetering on the edge of… something. He knew better than to go against his brother when he looked like that.

As far as Jeff could tell, the three stooges didn’t attend school that day and none of the kids in his class were on the bus that morning. He took the day to observe his classmates, not daring to mention what happened just a few hours before. He sat silently with his brother during lunchtime; Liu did nothing but stare at his feet, his stomach growling for the lunch money they left behind.

Jeff chose to look upwards and into the giant fluorescent lights that hung above them. The brightness was burning away at his eyes, yet Jeff just sat there and smiled softly to himself. He realized that his body was no longer aflame, that the bees had all burned away. Instead, he felt satisfied; he felt full. He knew what he was feeling was wrong, but he would be lying if he said it didn’t feel right.

On the walk back home, Jeff was mentally rehearsing the excuses he would give to his parents for his and his brother’s condition. He would tell them what he told every concerned staff member that morning: Liu and Jeff hurt themselves when they were playing together and they tried to stop the bleeding using his hoodie. He braced himself as he walked through the door. When no question barrage came, though, Jeff felt weightless. His mother barely looked up from her computer all evening, only stepping away when she paid the pizza delivery guy for their dinner. When she asked the obligatory “how was school today,” he let out a light, girlish giggle. Dreamily, he replied, “It was a wonderful day.”

When Jeff saw his mother standing in the corner of his room the following morning, he thought she was there to gently wake him. Both he and Liu had dreamt of yesterday’s incident, but while Liu had woken up in a cold sweat, Jeff’s eyes fluttered open with an eerie ease.

“Good morning, mother,” Jeff sighed. His smile slowly turned downward as he realized his mother wasn’t there to dote. Her stance was wide, arms tightly crossed, staring at him with daggers. He only broke her gaze when his father’s booming voice could be heard yelling angrily in the kitchen.

“Jeffery, the police are here. They need to talk to you and your brother.” Jeff gave a different kind of sigh and trailed behind his mother to the commotion. Liu was already sitting at the dining room table, hunched over in his seat like he was trying to disappear. Their father continued shouting, turning back and forth between his youngest son and the two men in uniform standing in front of him. Now downstairs, Peter Woods finally turned his rage towards his eldest son.

“Jeff! What the hell is this?! These officers are telling me you practically killed two kids!” In his anger, Peter had quickly closed the gap between him and Jeff, but was still holding back from giving his son the exact same treatment he had allegedly given to those three boys. Jeff was surprised he wasn’t smelling whiskey on his father’s breath.

“They pulled knives on us first. It was self defense,” Jeff replied in monotone.

His mother scoffed, “Bullshit.” One of the officers turned towards Jeff.

“Kid,” the cop began, “your bus driver found three boys with bruises, broken bones, and stab wounds. All three of them are saying that you attacked them unprovoked, and we have witnesses that can place you and your brother running away at the time the incident occurred. Their parents are wanting to press charges, but if you cooperate a judge might take pity on you.” Everything the cop had said was true, Jeff couldn’t deny that.

Liu stared helplessly from his spot at the table. It felt like a scene he had seen a thousand times before: his father, a violent dragon with breath that felt like fire; his brother, the valiant hero standing up for the damsel in distress; himself, the damsel. This time, though, there were two more dragons and they were threatening to finally quash his knight. Liu decided now was the time to step up, protect his brother like he couldn’t yesterday.

Liu’s voice shook when he pushed his chair away from the table, “Randy lied! I was the one who hurt them!” Liu frantically glanced around to everyone in the room. They stared back at him, confused, unconvinced. He continued, “They just didn't want to admit a little kid beat them up!” The two cops exchanged glances before looking back and forth between the two parents. Jeff knew what his brother was doing and while it was certainly an uncompelling confession to him, he couldn’t risk the cops believing him.

“It wasn’t Liu. They went after him first, so I taught them a lesson.” Jeff tried his best to sound passionate, more believable than his brother, but all he could muster was the same cold inflection as before. He stared directly at Liu, trying to communicate something, anything to his brother. If Liu understood Jeff’s message, he didn’t show it. Instead, the fire behind his eyes reignited. All Liu could think about was Jeff, how he had failed him yesterday, how he couldn’t fail him now. Jeff couldn’t survive life in prison, or rather the other prisoners couldn’t survive Jeff. Liu knew what he had to do.

In the blink of an eye, Liu was across the kitchen. Sitting center-stage on their new kitchen island was Liu’s father’s shining knife block set, a staple in their kitchen as long as Liu could remember. Barely reaching over the counter, he grabbed the largest knife he could. “It was me!” Liu screamed, “I did it before and I’ll do it again!” His voice was already growing hoarse from the sudden jump from its regular volume. Both officers placed a hand on their holstered weapon while sticking the other out as if to tame a wild animal. Liu smiled to himself, knowing that he had finally won. The smirk only built the officers' case against him.

“Son, let's go ahead and put that knife down,” one officer said in a calm and rehearsed tone. Without hesitation, Liu let the knife fall to the floor and raised his hands in the air. The other officer rushed towards Liu and swiftly placed him in handcuffs. As he watched his brother led out of his kitchen in police custody, emotion finally returned to Jeff’s face. His father held him back as he kicked and screamed for his brother, begging him to tell the truth.

“Jeffery, you don’t need to lie to try and save your brother. That’s enough, now.” His mother’s wishes came true, as Jeff’s words were replaced by incoherent sobbing and screaming. His body collapsed to the floor, leaving Jeff a shaking, dry heaving shell of the 13-year-old boy he was just the day before. Without fully realizing, Jeff’s father collected him into his arms and carried him up to his bedroom. He slept for the rest of the day.

It had been two weeks since Liu’s arrest and Jeff had barely gotten out of bed. He would only go to school if he was driven by one of his parents, as the times they tried to force him onto the bus again, Jeff ended up sneaking back into the house. On those days, he slept in Liu’s barely used bed, the sheets only barely wrinkled from two nights of his brother living there. At school he sat in the back, not bothering to observe his classmates anymore. His mind always drifted to Liu, what he could’ve been learning if the police had just believed the truth. But today, exactly two weeks since the police believed his brother’s lies, something was different. Jeff awoke to his mother standing in the corner of his room. It was like he was having deja vu, only this time, he mother really was there to wake him up with whispers and a smile.

“Good morning, Jeffery,” His mother cooed, practically floating from her corner down to the side of his bed where Jeff had rolled. Jeff flung himself to the other side of the bed in response. “Wake up now, Jeff. Today’s the day.” Her voice was sing-songy and it sent a shiver down Jeff’s spine. He propped himself up on his elbows to look her in the eyes. 

“What’s today?” he asked, attempting to blink the sleep from his eyes. His mother stood from her crouched position and sat on the bed beside her son, her crinoline skirt crinkling underneath her weight.

“Don’t you remember? We’re going to Billy’s party today.” She had begun to reach her hand towards her son’s back, but he shot up before she could even make eye contact.

“Are you kidding me? You really expect me to go to that party without Liu?” To his mother, Jeff only sounded frantic. To Jeff, he spoke in such a way to indicate the bees were slowly making a return. She rolled her eyes.

“We all know what happened, Jeffery,” her tone began to freeze over “and so do our neighbors. We agreed to this party weeks ago–”

“You meant you agreed,” he cut her off.

“Get up and get dressed. Now.” Before Jeff could continue arguing, his mother had already stomped her way out of the room. Begrudgingly, he rose. He picked up the first pair of jeans he stepped on and the shirt at the top of the pile draped over his desk chair. Jeff stopped about halfway down the stairs when he finally noticed his mother and father. They stood chatting amongst themselves; his mother in a pale blue dress, the skirt wide and stiff due to a plasticy petticoat holding its volume in place. His father, by comparison, wore a collared shirt in a matching color and his tan slacks freshly ironed and creased. They looked like two dolls that came from the same set, like Easter eggs, and it made Jeff sick. His face was dominated by confusion with bits of anger seeping into his eyes. His mother gave him the exact same look. “Is that really what you’re wearing, Jeffery?”

“Is that really what you’re wearing, Mom?” he retorted mockingly. Before his mother raised her voice or his father raised his on her behalf, Jeff added, “This is just a kid’s party, why are you all dressed up?”

Jeff’s father answered, “It’s always better to be over dressed than under. Now, go back upstairs and change before we’re late.” Jeff rolled his eyes as he turned to return to his room. He stood in the center of his room, turning in circles, scanning the room for anything remotely considered “fancy.” The only thing hanging in his closet were the few pairs of dress pants he wore for special occasions. He reached for the black pair that conveniently had an undershirt on the same hanger. Doing another spin, Jeff’s eyes locked on a pile of clothes across the room. An ordinary pile of clean laundry, on top of which a familiar sweatshirt stared at him, beckoning. His white hoodie from two weeks before, washed and folded without any question from his mother. Jeff held it in his shaking hands. Light pink splotches sprinkled the otherwise pristine surface, stains only visible to someone who was looking for them. He quickly threw on his new outfit and ran downstairs to meet his parents once more.

Jeff’s mother frowned. He could tell she was disappointed he didn’t choose the pair of pants that matched with his father; the choice of a sweatshirt became an afterthought. She exchanged an irritated look with Jeff’s father. “That’s what you’re wearing?” She rolled her eyes and glanced at her watch. “No time to change again, we’re already late.” Without another word, she quickly turned out the door. Jeff’s father trailed close behind and Jeff dragged his feet behind his father.

Standing in front of Barbara’s house, Jeff couldn’t help but shrink into himself. To his surprise, though, Barbara answered the door in an equally dressy outfit to his parents. The three adults exchanged pleasantries and went inside. Upon entering the living room, it became clear to Jeff how this was just as much a party for Barbara as it was for Billy. Adults stood talking amongst themselves, each holding their own glass of wine, beer, or cocktail. Before he could get too comfortable clinging to his parents' side, Barbara had crouched down to Jeff’s level.

“Hey, Jeff,” she said in the gentle tone one might use with a stray dog, “all of the other kids are playing in the backyard. How about you go and meet some of them?” Silently and emotionless, Jeff turned from Barbara and walked to where she had directed. Barbara stood, shaking herself from the shiver Jeff had sent down her spine. Margaret placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“Jeffery has always been a bit odd. We’ve found it best to let him exist in his own little world.” Barbara let out a nervous laugh and smile. As much as she liked Peter and Margaret, she felt confident in no longer letting Jeff into her home.

Stepping back into the sun, Jeff felt like he was entering another world. Every kid he saw had some combination of a cheap costume cowboy hat, a wooden revolver, and plastic sheriff's star. Jeff rolled his eyes at the absurdity of it all, and on instinct he turned to comment on the circus to Liu. His brain only remembered the reality of his situation too late, his face falling upon remembering his brother’s true whereabouts. A small child, no older than six, quickly spotted Jeff and ran up to him. In his hands was one of the fake guns and hat, which he held as a sort of offering.

“Hi! Wanna pway?” The child’s grin was filled with toothless gaps, clearly too young to feel insecure about the state of his smile. This made Jeff soften just a little.

“Sorry, but I think I’m a bit old for that,” Jeff tried to reply in the most delicate voice he could muster. The kid stared up at him, widening his eyes and jutting out his lower lip. This strange, puppydog-like expression weirded Jeff out, but he also couldn’t help but think of Liu just a few years prior, begging to play with his cool, older brother. He softened some more. “Fiiine,” Jeff said with fake exasperation and a genuine smile. While he might have looked ridiculous, playing with the other kids made him feel light, as the weight of his sorrow slowly lifted from his shoulders. Jeff played along with the loosely defined cowboy game the other boys had invented, wearing his hat and pretending to shoot his pretend gun. He was practically floating around the backyard, until Barbara’s voice sent him crashing back to the ground.

“Billy,” she called, “Randy and the others are here!” Billy ran to greet his newest guests, but Randy waved him away and walked directly over to Jeff. Jeff quickly removed his hat and tossed aside the gun, readying himself to bolt at any moment.

“Jeffery Woods,” Randy goaded. No one used that name apart from his mother. “We have some unfinished business.” Randy’s voice had changed since the last time they had met. The accent had been dropped, leaving only his prepubescent voice squeaking with rage. His nose was crooked and still slightly bruised from the day at the bus stop, finally giving him the tough-guy exterior the fake accent was compensating for. At this moment, Randy seemed truly intimidating, truly a threat.

“We’re even, Randy,” Jeff replied. “I kicked your asses and you got my brother arrested.” The look in Randy’s eyes only sharpened.

“I don’t believe in ‘even.’ I believe in winning,” he growled. “You only won the first round. This is round two.” In the blink of an eye, Randy bulldozed through Jeff and had him pinned to the ground. Jeff, realizing all he could do now was fight back, head butted Randy directly in the forehead. Temporarily stunned, Jeff pushed Randy away and rose to his feet. In just the few seconds since the fight began, children had already begun screaming and crying for their parents, with the parents quickly emerging from the house to witness the chaos. Some tried to approach the two boys before Keith and Troy revealed small handguns from their pockets. 

“Back away,” Keith shouted.

“Yeah! O-or we’ll shoot!” Troy added. With Jeff’s attention turned towards the two with firearms, Randy took the opportunity to get to his feet. He lodged his switchblade deeply into Jeff’s shoulder. As quickly as he had stood, Jeff was back on the ground, clutching his arm and writhing around in pain.

“That move look familiar?” Randy yelled in satisfaction. Jeff could barely register his words over the sounds of his own screams. Determined to earn his victory, Randy kicked Jeff directly in the nose. Randy cackled at the crunch produced as his shoe made contact with the same bone that Jeff had broken on him. His barrage continued, kicking Jeff everywhere he could land a blow. He managed to hit Jeff three more times before Jeff, with renewed awareness, latched on to his ankle mid-air. Mustering all his strength, he forced Randy’s ankle clockwise with the sound of splintering bone. With Randy temporarily disarmed, Jeff scrambled his way from the grass up the patio steps.

“Need some help?” Troy taunted. He had tangled his meaty fingers into Jeff’s hair, pulling him back slightly before launching him into the house. Looking up from the ground, Jeff’s vision wavered as he watched Randy limp through the door to meet him on the hardwood floor. Through gritted teeth and eyes wincing with pain, Randy kicked Jeff one final time in the stomach. Jeff’s blood pooled on the floor as he coughed from his battered lungs.

The look in Randy’s eyes was manic, mad. “Come on, Jeffery!” He quickly surveyed the room, finally landing on a bottle of vodka used by one of the parents earlier. He swiped it from the counter, tossing it back and forth between his hands like he was sizing up a grenade. His eyes locked back on Jeff. He held the bottle in his right hand, holding it as high as his arm could extend. Randy yelled with all his might. “FIGHT!” The bottle shattered on impact, sprinkling razor-like shards over Jeff’s face and arms. The alcohol doused his entire body, setting every open wound aflame. All his body could do was contract into itself to protect from further damage.

“LOOK AT ME,” Randy demanded. Jeff weakly craned his head upwards to look his assailant in the eye. “I sent your brother to jail! You won’t even fight for him? Where is your honor?!” It was no longer just a swarm of bees in his chest. They were screaming, angry, violent, tearing him apart from the inside out. As Jeff’s heart pounded in his ears, he could just make out the subtle snap of his own psyche. He realized, now, he needed to see Randy’s insides on his outside. He needed to see blood, needed to hear him beg for his own life, needed to feel the life drain from his body. He needed to kill.

“Finally, he decides to fight!” Randy proclaimed, Jeff slowly pulling himself onto his knees. He brought himself to a standing position, head hung low with his greasy brown hair obscuring his face. “He stands to face me,” Randy’s voice was dripping with bloodlust. Before he could even think of his next attack, Randy was standing nose to nose with Jeff. Through the veil of brown, Randy caught a glimpse of Jeff’s eyes, pupils contracted to pinpricks and the white a sharp contrast to the web of red veins. As soon as he registered Jeff standing before him, his heart felt like exploding as Jeff’s fist made direct contact with the center of his chest. He stumbled backwards, tripping over the neck of his own broken bottle and falling to the floor. Jeff refused to let up; he would only stop when Randy stopped breathing. At lightning speed, Jeff punched Randy with abnormal strength. With hammering force, Jeff watched as Randy’s face became less and less recognizable, continuing until his previously youthful face was nothing more than a bloody pulp. Randy’s body grew weaker and deflated under Jeff’s assault, until finally his breaths changed from pained gasps to shallow wheezes to finally… silence.

Jeff lifted his head to meet the gaze of the entire room. Parents, shielding their young kids' eyes from the body while not being able to look away themselves. The rest of the children, clutching the hem of their mothers’ dresses, filling the room with the sound of their wails. Keith and Troy, their guns limply held in their hands, staring in abject horror at the lifeless body of their leader and the piercing eyes of his murderer. Jeff stared back, tilting his head as if to taunt them. Keith and Troy, shaken back into awareness, shakily trained their guns on him. Jeff, now staring down the barrels of the two pistols, exhaled in amusement. Feeling as though they must commit to their actions, Keith and Troy slowly pulled back on the triggers. The sound that came out of their hands was deafening, the guns recoiling and sending the shots into the ceiling rather than the intended target. They turned away as the guns sounded off, closing their eyes as if not witnessing the impact would make it less real. When they realized Jeff remained unscathed, they continued firing. They could barely keep track of Jeff as he slithered his way up the stairs to the second floor. They both emptied their magazines into the wall and floor surrounding Jeff, feeling relieved when pulling the trigger did nothing but leave an empty click. Now that they could no longer use the stolen firearms, they could fight how Randy taught them. They could chase him down and finish him off the way they knew how.

They managed to corner Jeff in a small bathroom. As soon as Jeff understood he was trapped, he readied himself; these two would not make it out alive. Just like the day at the bus stop, Keith and Troy fell into their fighting positions. Troy began to lunge for Jeff, but Jeff made first contact. Ripping a towel rack from the drywall, Jeff swung at Troy with the same motion and glee as a batter hits a baseball. Troy’s body limply fell to the floor, now unconscious. Filled with determination, Jeff made the same maneuver towards Keith. However, Jeff hit nothing but the same drywall he had torn apart earlier, his arms and the wall vibrating slightly from the impact. While Keith’s build had never been particularly threatening, needing to look all the way up to meet his gaze made Jeff feel like a mythic hero fighting a giant. Keith seized him, his large hands wrapping tightly around his neck and slamming him into the wall. 

The vibrations in the wall multiplied, traveling up to a shelf none of the boys had noticed. Sitting there, amongst dusty photo frames and extra toilet paper rolls, was a bottle of bleach. It was a remnant of Barbara’s last minute cleaning before the guests had arrived. She was in such a rush she neglected to close the bottle before putting it out of reach of the children. Now, with all of the force applied to the wall, the bottle gently rocked, tipped, and came tumbling down atop the two boys. The bleach burned more than the vodka. It ate its way through Jeff’s skin, it felt like his flesh was going to melt off the bone. Eyes burning and blinded, Jeff groped for the towel rack lodged in the wall. He swung and kept swinging till he felt an impact. Having blinked away most of the bleach, Jeff could finally open his eyes and see what had happened. He found Keith laying in the bathtub, clutching the back of his head and sitting in a pool of his own blood. As soon as they locked eyes, Keith could help but let out a small chuckle.

“What’s so funny,” it sounded more like a statement than a question. Keith laughed again, reaching into his pocket. Randy might have lost, but he wouldn’t let Jeff win.

“What’s funny,” Keith replied, “is that you’re still covered in alcohol.” Puzzled, Jeff shifted his focus to the small glowing object dwarfed in Keith’s hand. Jeff tried to run before Keith could act, but the bleach coating the floor only made him futilely slip in place. With a sickening smile, Keith gently tossed his lighter at Jeff. All it needed was to lightly graze his back, and suddenly the fire spread to every inch of Jeff’s body. The fire amplified the burning of the bleach, eating away at Jeff until it looked like he was nothing but bone. His screams were ghoulish, blood curdling, otherworldly. Parents gathered at the bottom of the staircase as he tumbled downwards, each step charred as the walking inferno made its descent. Some adults frantically reached for pillows and blankets to smother the flames; others made frantic calls to 911. As Jeff’s vision slowly tunneled, he watched as his mother bit her nails, screaming at an operator to hurry up and his father attempting to beat his fire into submission with a couch cushion. Suddenly, the tunnel closed completely.

When Jeff regained consciousness, his world was still shrouded in darkness. His entire head was tightly bound in gauze, unable to move his mouth or eyelids. His skin felt like it was pulled taught, stretching as tightly as it could around the rest of his body. He dragged his hands along his limbs, trying to better understand his condition. Tracing along his arm, it felt as though he were running his fingers over a fancy leather wallet. He came across a tube planted right below the crook of his elbow. Before he could pull it out, someone rushed over and gently placed his hand back at his side.

“Don’t touch that, sweetheart,” a woman cooed. “I’ll let the doctor know you’re awake.” It wasn’t his mother. Over the next several hours, Jeff learned how to see without his eyes. He listened to the rhythmic beeping of the various machines that surrounded him. His ears would perk up any time footsteps passed by his door. He breathed in the smell of the hospital linens. His nose was able to follow the nurse’s floral perfume as she moved closer and further away from his bed. Finally, the familiar sound of high heels and the overpowering smell of his mother’s musky fragrance entered into his room.

“Honey, are you okay?” Her voice was sweet, sickly sweet, but that somehow didn’t bother him. He rolled his head as if to look at her, which seemed to be reply enough. She continued, “Well, I have good news, darling. The police have reassessed Liu’s case; he’s coming home tomorrow. I’m sure he’ll be excited to see you.” She leaned down to kiss Jeff over his bandages. Jeff wanted to stop her, to yell, to pepper her with questions, to force her to stay, but all he could manage to do was slide his hand over hers. She squeezed it lightly before swiftly standing and exiting the room. Once again, Jeff was left alone in the hospital using everything but his eyes to see.

Jeff was left in the dark for three weeks after he woke up. Every day became the same: His mother’s visits would last as short as she could get away with, her words hollow and her touch hesitant. His father would pace around the room in his heavy boots, trying to keep Jeff entertained with war stories. Liu never said a word for the entire three weeks. Instead, he would sit cross-legged at the end of Jeff’s bed. Every few minutes, he would lean over and lightly squeeze Jeff’s leg, as if to say I’m here. I’m here and I’m not leaving. He would sit like that for hours.

The day Jeff was to be discharged was the day his bandages were to be finally removed. His family huddled at the foot of his bed, all waiting in anticipation to see what Jeff’s face had become after all this time. The nurse slowly removed the IV from his arm and the stitch in his shoulder as the doctor prepped to remove his facial coverings.

“Jeffery’s wounds took longer to heal than most,” the doctor explained before proceeding, “but we still expect him to have made a full recovery.” Slowly and deliberately, the doctor cut and unwrapped the bandages from his face. As the final piece of cloth fluttered away from his face, Jeff’s mother let out a glass-shattering screech. Jeff slowly opened his eyes and saw his father and brother staring silently at him, mouths agape. He began to panic.

“What happened? How bad is it?” Before anyone could answer, Jeff was already out of bed and in front of the bathroom mirror. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His face was paler than it had ever been, pure white. His lips, by contrast, had been burned to a deep shade of red. The few hairs that hadn’t been burned away were singed from their chocolate brown down to jet black. Jeff lightly touched his fingertips to his face, its texture the same he had felt on his arm weeks before. Everyone was waiting for Jeff to turn to them, to break down, to scream, to cry, but he continued to stand in front of the mirror, transfixed at the sight of his own reflection.

Liu took a small step towards him. “It’s not that bad…” Jeff grew animated at his brother’s words.

“Are you kidding?!” Jeff exclaimed, “It’s perfect!” He turned back to his family, grinning from ear to ear. “Mommy, don’t I look so pretty?” His mother physically shivered.

“Uh, uhm-” she stopped and started. “Doctor, is this normal behavior? Given his condition?”

“Perfectly normal. With how many painkillers we’ve prescribed, it's very common for him to be out of it. It’s like how you act after getting your wisdom teeth removed.” His mother breathed a sigh of relief at the reassurance. Her son wasn’t crazy after all. As his parents filled out the discharge paperwork at the nurse’s station, Liu was left to watch as the broken pieces of his brother danced and skipped in front of the mirror. Jeff continuously giggled and hummed to himself, occasionally laughing in such a way that Liu thought it was some twisted imitation of the Joker. Their parents reentered the room with a stack of papers and a small shopping bag. His mother stepped forward with the bag.

“Jeffery,” her voice was smooth and cold, “unfortunately, the clothes you were wearing at the party were burned in the fire.” She paused, calculating the weight she dropped by bringing it up. Jeff was seemingly too mesmerized by his own face to care. “We decided to buy you replacements of everything you were wearing.” She extended the bag to Jeff, “Put these on and then we can go home.” Jeff spun whimsically in place before stopping to face his mother.

“Hehehehe o-kayyyyyyy!” Jeff theatrically snatched the bag from his mother’s hand and immediately began changing. Jeff’s mother turned, not bearing to look at her son’s bleached and burned skin, wiping her hand against her shirt. She felt unnerved for the rest of the night, as Jeff continued his giggling without ever seeming to pause for a breath.

In the early hours of the next morning, Margaret found herself unable to sleep. She kept thinking about Jeff, about how that deranged look in his eye couldn’t be explained by being high on painkillers, how that look had really always been there. As she laid in bed, she heard a small commotion coming from the bathroom. As she slowly inched her way down the hallway, she thought it sounded like someone was crying. Had Jeff hurt Liu? She increased her pace. Carefully creaking open the door, what she saw made all the color drain from her face. There stood Jeff, just a couple feet away, with his nose pressed against the mirror. In his hand was a large kitchen knife placed delicately in the center of his cheek. The sink was stained red.

“Jeffery,” she tried to hide the terror in her voice, “Are you okay, baby?” 

His neck snapped to face her. She could see now that he had taken the knife to both sides of his face, slicing through skin to reveal teeth and muscle. “Oh, Mommy,” he cooed. “I just couldn’t stop smiling. My mouth would get tired. Now, I can smile forever!” He pushed his smile as wide as he could. Margaret knew that smile, Jeff would always close his eyes to emphasize his happiness. Now, though, his eyes stayed open.

“And what happened to your eyes?” she asked, attempting to sound more curious than fearful.

“I wanted to keep looking at myself, but my eyes kept closing. So I burned my eyelids so they would never close again!” He stared at her expectantly, longing for praise. She couldn’t hide her horror any longer. She took a shaky step back. “Where are you going, Mommy? Aren’t I beautiful?”

“Of course you are, baby. Let me just get your father, so he can see too.” Margaret fled to the bedroom, hurriedly shaking her husband awake. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Honey. Honey, get the gun. Jeffery…” Her sentence trailed off. Jeff stood as a mere shadow in the doorway, only the bloodsoaked knife reflecting any light. His childlike demeanor had vanished; he barely resembled a human.

“You lied.”

Liu jolted awake, convinced he had heard a noise while he slept. When he didn’t hear the noise again, he slowly eased himself back into his pillow. Still afraid of what might go bump in the night, Liu threw the covers over his head; Jeff had always taught him that was the best way to keep monsters away. After several minutes, he still couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. He slowly pulled the sheet away to reveal his brother, eyes twitching and ringed in black. Glinting in the moonlight, Liu saw Jeff raise the knife as high as he could. Before he could scream for their dead parents, Jeff placed a hand over his brother’s mouth. His smile stretched wide, blood dripping from Jeff’s lips. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I can feel my body growing weak. One foot in front of the other. Just walk in a straight line, keeping a steady pace with the music in my head. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four.  I walk along the tinny notes of my old and battered flute for 140 measures before the terrain shifts from sidewalk to soil. I pause once I reach the center of the quad and crane my neck to meet the vast emptiness of the sky. The moon covers half her face, not daring to meet the eyes of the crumbling Earth. The stars shine alongside her, an army ready and willing to defend her honor. The night is almost beautiful, if it wasn't for the ugly thoughts racing through my diseased brain; if it wasn't for me, standing in the middle of this clearing.

“Why are we still here?” I scoff. “Just to suffer?!” My gaze sharpens, daring the moon to shine in full, for her soldiers to descend. I receive no answer. Suddenly, screaming. Loud, low, guttural, animalistic screaming. The wordless expression only lasts as long as my lungs can hold air; tears burn down my flushed cheeks. I didn’t realize my body remembered how to sound like that. My outburst is only met with the unique quiet of the quad: the low hum of emergency lights, my early morning friend making its call once more. I stare out over the shriveled grass, through it, beyond it.

I’ve heard stories of East Coast snow. In just a few weeks time, Winter will make her graceful entrance and leave blankets of white in her wake. The sins of the past frozen and locked away, leaving the ground a blank canvas for those who choose to paint it. I used to dream of adding the first brush stroke, of my brush stroke seeping into the soil for good. I don’t have dreams anymore, though, only nightmares. My mind flashes with visions of blood, my blood, speckled amongst the snow. Chest spasming, violent coughing, body rejecting itself all because I chose to let another in.