Short Story

My cousin and I wrote stories to read at the next 1st Thursday (Cole Marr Coffee house has a great little poetry/short story competition)and I figgured I'd post my entry for anyone to read who is interested as well as to get some feedback...Let me know what you think.

DIG

Brown blood oozed slowly out of the nearly-severed body; the two seemingly identical ends curled in agonizing spirals. Stephen stopped, then set the dull shovel aside, bending down to examine the collateral damage done by his aberrant stroke. He sat puzzled for a moment, deciding how to pick up the small, slimy creature without doing further damage. A thin layer of skin, like the twine his dad used to bind the chickens they sold, was all that connected the two squirming ends of the worm’s body. It was a very small worm Stephen thought as he looked down on it, just a baby really; he had almost not even seen it it was so small. He had been coming down for another strike with the shovel when he had seen the pitiful, injured creature and stopped before he hurt it beyond repair.

He gazed at the shovel: the evidence of his murder was slight--a tiny splat of wetness against the dirt-claude cliff on the shovel face. No one would know it was even there unless they were looking for it. He turned his attention back to the worm. Slowly, carefully, he picked up the wounded digger. His small, soft hands--now covered in earth and stinging slightly from the newly formed blisters—delicately handled the worm’s thin, weak tissue, making sure not to sever the only remaining connection. The faceless body squirmed, and squeezed and oozed in his fingers.

Stephen wondered where the worm had been going before he stuck it: home? His friend’s house? To get food? Or was he going to China too? How long had it taken him to get as far as he did? Minutes? Hours? Days? Stephen had been digging for what seemed like hours now and wasn’t even past his waist, but the worm he figured was much smaller than him and it would take him much longer. He touched his finger to the thin flap of skin. It felt like watery Jello--solid, yet somehow not. He wondered if the worm would still be able to continue his journey now that he was nearly split it two.

“What are you doing?” Kyle asked startling Stephen out of his remorseful reverie. “Why did you stop?” Stephen turned to see the outline of his brother through the semi-wrecked wood wall. The barn was old and had begun to rot and fall apart in certain places, although much of the damage had been done by the boys themselves, who liked the idea of secret passages: places that only they knew about and could pass through. Kyle held a small pile of something in his hands, but the ever-increasing darkness kept Stephen from being able to make out exactly what it was. He clambered through the wall and moved towards the hole Stephen had been digging.

“Why aren’t you further? We should be like… at least half-way there!” Kyle said in exasperation. He set down what now showed to be a small pile of mixed leaves on the ground.

“Leaves?” Stephen asked.

“Money.” Kyle said. “Stuart Smith told me they don’t have trees in China, so I figure if we bring leaves we could tell them it’s American money and they’ll never know the difference. We could live like kings over there if we bring enough of this stuff!”

“Kings?” Stephen asked puzzled.

“Yeah!” Kyle said, projecting all the safety and luxury they were about to enjoy in his one word reply.

“Oh.” Stephen said.

There was a short pause before Kyle remembered that he had pilfered something else in his raids. Out of his pocket he drew a small candle and a book of matches.

“I thought we could use some light once we got deep down in there. It’ll be dark once we get near the center of the earth.” He snapped off a small match and bending the book backwards, struck it effortlessly. They both admired the small fire for a moment. Kyle lit the candle and moved closer to the hole. Looking down he saw that Stephen was carefully cradling a delicate secret in his hands.

“What is that?” He demanded changing tones instantly. “What are you hiding?”
With Kyle’s sudden arrival, Stephen had almost forgotten about the worm and now the feelings of guilt came rushing back. “I think I killed it.” He said and slowly raising the still-twisting worm into the candlelight for Kyle to see.

“What do you mean? It’s not dead. It’s still moving isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but...”

“Well then it’s alive.”

“It is?” Stephen looked closer at the worm. It dawned on him that if it was still alive it was probably in tremendous pain. If he listened hard enough he thought, he would probably hear it screaming. He put his ear as close to the worm as he could feeling a little bit of the worms wetness attach itself to his ear lobe.

“What are you doing?” Kyle asked beginning to get angry.

“If he’s still alive he’s probably in pain. He’s probably calling out for help.”

“You’re stupid.” Kyle said. “Worms can’t scream, or yell, or even talk!”

“How do you know?” Stephen asked.

“Everyone knows that! Why are you so dumb?”

Stephen didn’t answer but looked down at the worm. Was it still alive, or was it like the chickens he had seen his dad kill? They always looked like they were still alive, but dad swore they were dead. Kyle and Dad always laughed, but the way they ran around had always terrified Stephen. He imagined them running right at him even though they didn’t have a head. He imagined them jumping on him, clawing him, hurting him, tearing at his face and eyes... Stephen shuttered at the image.

Kyle was getting impatient. “What are you doing? Why aren’t you digging?” We are almost out of time! We have to get there before... “
Stephen could not stop looking at the worm.

With a sudden viciousness Kyle stormed up to Stephen and snatched the worm out of his hands. Stephen open his mouth to protest, but it was too late, Kyle snapped the small creature the rest of the way in half and threw the carcass against the wall. The worm splattered against the rotting wood, squirmed once more and froze in position. If it was not dead before, it certainly was now.

“Get back to digging!” Kyle yelled.

“Why did you do that?” Stephen begged, his eyes beginning to well up with tears.

“Are you going to cry? Are you going to cry you little baby? You know what we do to cry babies?” Kyle raised his hand to hit Stephen.

“Kyle! Stephen!” A voice echoed out from the distance.

The boys froze. They heard the squeak of the screen door hinges, then silence.
Kyle unclenched his fist, and silently turned, walking wordlessly towards the barn door. Wiping tears from his eyes Stephen reached for the shovel and climbed back into the small hole, crouching as low as he could get.

Kyle peered cautiously through the large crack between the door and the wall. A small blast of cool fall air funneled through the opening hitting his face. He could not make out much at the house as it was cloaked in the darkling night.

He waited. There was no movement. Suddenly, the porch light flipped on and the screen door opened. A dark figure emerged from the house.

Kyle turned back to Stephen. “Blow out the candle.”

Stephen obeyed instantly, blowing out the only light source and leaving them both in almost complete darkness.

Through the crack Kyle saw the dark figure lite a cigarette, and stand smoking for a moment. The porch light illuminated the top of his head but left the rest of his face in dark obscurity. The coal burned a deep red. HE exhaled a large cloud.

“Kyle! Stephen!” the man yelled shattering the silence again.

He received no reply.

The cigarette butt flew from his hands and tumbled to a stop in the dirt yard. Smoke trickled slowly up the side disappearing in the dark night air. The cold, hard dirt crunched under his feet as he began walking towards the barn.