We Need to Do Something

by Max Booth III

Bobby glances over his shoulder, concerned. “Do you think people died?” Mom shakes her head. “No, baby.” “Highly possible,” Dad says. “Goddammit, Robert.”

“Oh, do you have a better time in mind? Maybe go out in the living room and continue this discussion, is that it?” “You can’t go to the living room,” Bobby says, voice weak. “We’re stuck.” “Thank you, Bobby. I guess I forgot.” “You’re welcome.”

“Have I ever hurt you?” He gestures to me and Bobby. “Have I ever hurt your mom? Huh?” “Sometimes you yell and get angry and make her cry,” Bobby tells him.

“We have to do something, don’t we?” I wail. “We have to do something.”

Mom’s slapping me awake and I’m laughing because I can’t feel her hand and I can’t feel my cheek and I don’t know why she’s even bothering. I try telling her she’d have better luck slapping Bobby awake but I can’t move my face, so how is it I’m laughing? Except it isn’t my mother slapping me. It’s Dad, and he’s not slapping, he’s punching, and his hand’s drenched in my blood and it wasn’t me laughing either, it was Dad the whole time, cackling and howling and screaming with laughter. I bite my tongue off and swallow it before he can steal it from me.