{"id":16566,"date":"2024-04-30T14:03:32","date_gmt":"2024-04-30T19:03:32","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/?p=16566"},"modified":"2024-11-26T11:54:46","modified_gmt":"2024-11-26T17:54:46","slug":"dread","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/2024\/04\/30\/dread\/","title":{"rendered":"Dread"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<ul class=\"wp-block-social-links is-content-justification-right is-layout-flex wp-container-core-social-links-is-layout-765c4724 wp-block-social-links-is-layout-flex\"><li class=\"wp-social-link wp-social-link-facebook  wp-block-social-link\"><a href=\"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/profile.php?id=61556140010887\" class=\"wp-block-social-link-anchor\"><svg width=\"24\" height=\"24\" viewBox=\"0 0 24 24\" version=\"1.1\" xmlns=\"http:\/\/www.w3.org\/2000\/svg\" aria-hidden=\"true\" focusable=\"false\"><path d=\"M12 2C6.5 2 2 6.5 2 12c0 5 3.7 9.1 8.4 9.9v-7H7.9V12h2.5V9.8c0-2.5 1.5-3.9 3.8-3.9 1.1 0 2.2.2 2.2.2v2.5h-1.3c-1.2 0-1.6.8-1.6 1.6V12h2.8l-.4 2.9h-2.3v7C18.3 21.1 22 17 22 12c0-5.5-4.5-10-10-10z\"><\/path><\/svg><span class=\"wp-block-social-link-label screen-reader-text\">Facebook<\/span><\/a><\/li>\n\n<li class=\"wp-social-link wp-social-link-instagram  wp-block-social-link\"><a href=\"https:\/\/www.instagram.com\/boudin_mcneese\/\" class=\"wp-block-social-link-anchor\"><svg width=\"24\" height=\"24\" viewBox=\"0 0 24 24\" version=\"1.1\" xmlns=\"http:\/\/www.w3.org\/2000\/svg\" aria-hidden=\"true\" focusable=\"false\"><path d=\"M12,4.622c2.403,0,2.688,0.009,3.637,0.052c0.877,0.04,1.354,0.187,1.671,0.31c0.42,0.163,0.72,0.358,1.035,0.673 c0.315,0.315,0.51,0.615,0.673,1.035c0.123,0.317,0.27,0.794,0.31,1.671c0.043,0.949,0.052,1.234,0.052,3.637 s-0.009,2.688-0.052,3.637c-0.04,0.877-0.187,1.354-0.31,1.671c-0.163,0.42-0.358,0.72-0.673,1.035 c-0.315,0.315-0.615,0.51-1.035,0.673c-0.317,0.123-0.794,0.27-1.671,0.31c-0.949,0.043-1.233,0.052-3.637,0.052 s-2.688-0.009-3.637-0.052c-0.877-0.04-1.354-0.187-1.671-0.31c-0.42-0.163-0.72-0.358-1.035-0.673 c-0.315-0.315-0.51-0.615-0.673-1.035c-0.123-0.317-0.27-0.794-0.31-1.671C4.631,14.688,4.622,14.403,4.622,12 s0.009-2.688,0.052-3.637c0.04-0.877,0.187-1.354,0.31-1.671c0.163-0.42,0.358-0.72,0.673-1.035 c0.315-0.315,0.615-0.51,1.035-0.673c0.317-0.123,0.794-0.27,1.671-0.31C9.312,4.631,9.597,4.622,12,4.622 M12,3 C9.556,3,9.249,3.01,8.289,3.054C7.331,3.098,6.677,3.25,6.105,3.472C5.513,3.702,5.011,4.01,4.511,4.511 c-0.5,0.5-0.808,1.002-1.038,1.594C3.25,6.677,3.098,7.331,3.054,8.289C3.01,9.249,3,9.556,3,12c0,2.444,0.01,2.751,0.054,3.711 c0.044,0.958,0.196,1.612,0.418,2.185c0.23,0.592,0.538,1.094,1.038,1.594c0.5,0.5,1.002,0.808,1.594,1.038 c0.572,0.222,1.227,0.375,2.185,0.418C9.249,20.99,9.556,21,12,21s2.751-0.01,3.711-0.054c0.958-0.044,1.612-0.196,2.185-0.418 c0.592-0.23,1.094-0.538,1.594-1.038c0.5-0.5,0.808-1.002,1.038-1.594c0.222-0.572,0.375-1.227,0.418-2.185 C20.99,14.751,21,14.444,21,12s-0.01-2.751-0.054-3.711c-0.044-0.958-0.196-1.612-0.418-2.185c-0.23-0.592-0.538-1.094-1.038-1.594 c-0.5-0.5-1.002-0.808-1.594-1.038c-0.572-0.222-1.227-0.375-2.185-0.418C14.751,3.01,14.444,3,12,3L12,3z M12,7.378 c-2.552,0-4.622,2.069-4.622,4.622S9.448,16.622,12,16.622s4.622-2.069,4.622-4.622S14.552,7.378,12,7.378z M12,15 c-1.657,0-3-1.343-3-3s1.343-3,3-3s3,1.343,3,3S13.657,15,12,15z M16.804,6.116c-0.596,0-1.08,0.484-1.08,1.08 s0.484,1.08,1.08,1.08c0.596,0,1.08-0.484,1.08-1.08S17.401,6.116,16.804,6.116z\"><\/path><\/svg><span class=\"wp-block-social-link-label screen-reader-text\">Instagram<\/span><\/a><\/li><\/ul>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-large-font-size\"><strong>Dread<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\"><strong>Randall Brown<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">__________<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">&nbsp;Attie shone the iPhone\u2019s flashlight in her sister Isabel\u2019s face and, with her left hand, knocked her awake. It had been only six hours since their dog Lucky returned after a week, mad, foaming, stumbling through the gates and into their seven acres on the Philadelphia\u2019s Main Line. Lucky\u2019s sickness still clung to the air, like the scratch of rats.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cThere\u2019s something we must do.\u201d She shook Isabel. <em>Their mother had screamed for her daughters to run, Isabel immediately sprinting. But Attie had stood her ground, stepped in front.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">Isabel buried her head in her pillow. \u201cLeave me alone.\u201d <em>The dog had lunged past Attie, buried its teeth in her mother\u2019s neck, crushing the trachea<\/em>. Attie now flipped Isabel back into the light. \u201cWhat?\u201d Isabel asked. \u201cWhat do we need to do?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">Attie felt the deadness of her sister, that part that had grown sick of it all. \u201cDad left the dog outside the fence. To rot, he said.\u201d <em>From behind the sliding glass doors, Isabel had watched the attack, paralyzed<\/em>. \u201cAnd he said Lucky has to stay like that, unlooked at and untouched.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">&nbsp;\u201cWhy would you want to touch it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cWe have to bury it,\u201d Attie said. \u201cHe\u2019s ours. Our dog. Not his.\u201d Their mother now lay at Bryn Mawr Hospital, a ghost but holding on.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">The television downstairs stayed on, the voice like iron, announcing the latest sickness, another reason not to exist. \u201cI\u2019m not touching that thing.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cHow about the shovel? Certainly, you aren\u2019t afraid of that.\u201d&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cYou and your death wish,\u201d Isabel answered. \u201cDad doesn\u2019t need you\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">Attie cut her off. \u201cI don\u2019t care what he needs.\u201d She strode out to the forest, now fully engaged.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center has-medium-font-size\">*<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">Outside, the yellow leaves dripped with the sodden air. The woods felt once-removed, obscured and dim. Attie touched the slick trunk of the birch trees, the bark crumbling like plaster off a neglected house. The wooden gate wouldn\u2019t yield to her pushing, until finally she kicked it off its hinges and it hung there, like a broken tooth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">Lucky wasn\u2019t there. Had he recovered? Been moved? By whom? Or what? She called his name, quietly, her steps sinking into the undergrowth, stumbling over the hidden roots on her way up the tangled hill of her backyard.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cDad isn\u2019t\u2014\u201d Her sister\u2019s voice called from below but lost its sense before it reached Attie. <em>Dad isn\u2019t.<\/em> That said it all. He would exile her this time. For good.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">She heard a rustling ahead, behind the insurgent bamboo. She crawled to the edge. A dark form bent over the body of her dog, the dog who knew her every feeling, who\u2019d arrived to save her after her return from the hospital, curling his body tight against her when she needed that warmth and connection, running ahead of her to push her to follow when she needed flight, planting himself on her chest when she wanted to be buried in fur.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cThat should seal it.\u201d The form moved out of the shadow, into a slant of moonlight. In his left hand, a knife caught the light, reflected it into Attie\u2019s vision, blinding her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cDad?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">The form looked up, stepped toward her. \u201cWhat were you doing in your sister\u2019s room?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cIsabel\u2019s?\u201d The unexpected question diverted her from her purpose.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cI saw the light.\u201d He looked to the window. \u201cYou said you wouldn\u2019t involve her in your\u2014well, in your what? You tell me.\u201d He moved out of the moon\u2019s reflection, the last bit of light catching the glint of blade. \u201cYou wanted us to stop hovering, to stop spying, to stop caring. Remember all that?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cI wanted Isabel\u2019s help. To bury Lucky.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201c<em>You<\/em> want. You think that defines this family?\u2014all that you want?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cNo.\u201d Yes, she\u2019d swallowed the twenty-three\u2014and yes, she counted them twenty, thirty times\u2014oval Xanax pills. She\u2019d lost her mind. For just that one moment. \u201cHe\u2019s mine.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">That knife. Had he slit Lucky\u2019s throat? Out of anger? Mercy? When she\u2019d put her body between Lucky and her mother, what had she hoped for? Choose me, Lucky, just once, someone choose me. But not for death, no. For something else.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cYou killed him,\u201d she accused. \u201cHow could you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cMe?\u201d Her father stepped toward her. \u201cYou think this is my fault? You think your mom could let you alone for a second without dying of worry? With all you don\u2019t know, I could fill a world.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cI stepped in front of her. Where were you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cThe mad dog. That\u2019s who you stepped in front of. Take me, World!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">A noise from behind him\u2014a hum. A tail hung in the moonlight, stiff and still. She pushed past him to get to Lucky, to give him back to nature, to bury him in the earth\u2019s womb.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cOh my God.\u201d She sank to her knees. \u201cYou think that would replace him?\u201d Its gut lay open, the red wires spilling out like uncoiling snakes in a garden.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cReplace him?\u201d He stood over her now. \u201cDo you know how much this cost us?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">She said nothing, instead pet the faux-fur. Out its ear, a small transistor\u2014a hearing aid?\u2014crackled with leftover life. As she reached for it, her dad stepped on it, crushing it against a half-buried rock.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">Its significance remained outside Attie\u2019s understanding, so she didn\u2019t recognize it as a microphone, saw it instead only as her father\u2019s way of finally bringing this\u2014not dog, but what?\u2014to its death. The dog was something unreal, something they tricked her with, a thing pretending to love her, a thing to convince her the world was worth her time. It was for them, like everything else.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">He continued talking, something about Mom\u2019s need to know, about a bug, machines, madness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">He kneeled next to her. She didn\u2019t hesitate. With her right hand, she reached for her dad\u2019s knife, stuck the blade in his belly, stuffed in her left hand, the fingers frantic, like escaped vermin, searching for wires.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">__________<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\"><strong>Dedication<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-left has-medium-font-size\">The dog in \u201cDread\u201d is nothing like Hazel, a real beauty of a being.<\/p>\n\n\n<div class=\"wp-block-image\">\n<figure class=\"aligncenter size-large is-resized\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"1024\" height=\"1024\" src=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/37\/2024\/04\/IMG_0585-1024x1024.jpeg\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-16653\" style=\"width:692px;height:auto\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/37\/2024\/04\/IMG_0585-1024x1024.jpeg 1024w, https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/37\/2024\/04\/IMG_0585-300x300.jpeg 300w, https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/37\/2024\/04\/IMG_0585-150x150.jpeg 150w, https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/37\/2024\/04\/IMG_0585-768x768.jpeg 768w, https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/37\/2024\/04\/IMG_0585.jpeg 1497w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1024px) 100vw, 1024px\" \/><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">__________<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\"><strong>Randall Brown<\/strong> is the author of the award-winning collection&nbsp;<em>Mad to Live<\/em>, his essay on (very) short fiction appears in&nbsp;<em>The Rose Metal Press Field Guide to Writing Flash Fiction<\/em>, and he appears in&nbsp;<em>Best Small Fictions 2015, 2017<\/em>, &amp;&nbsp;<em>2019<\/em>&nbsp;and The Norton Anthologies&nbsp;<em>Flash Fiction: America<\/em>&nbsp;and&nbsp;<em>New Micro: Exceptionally Short Fiction &amp; Hint Fiction<\/em>; also, his essays appeared in Grey House\u2019s&nbsp;<em>Critical Insights: American Short Story<\/em>&nbsp;and&nbsp;<em>Critical Insights: Flash Fiction<\/em>. He founded and directs&nbsp;<a href=\"https:\/\/flashfiction.net\/\">FlashFiction.net<\/a>&nbsp;and has been published and anthologized widely, both online and in print. Recent books include the flash fiction collection&nbsp;<em>This Is How He Learned to Love<\/em>&nbsp;(Sonders Press 2019), the prose poetry collection&nbsp;<em>I Might Never Learn<\/em>&nbsp;(Finishing Line Press 2018) and the novella&nbsp;<em>How Long is Forever<\/em>&nbsp;(Running Wild Press 2018). He served as the Director for the MFA in Creative Writing Program at Rosemont College, as a reader, editor, and Lead Editor at&nbsp;<em>Smokelong Quarterly<\/em>, and as a judge for numerous flash fiction awards, including Rose Metal Press\u2019 annual chapbook contest. He is also the founder and managing editor of Matter Press and its&nbsp;<em>Journal of Compressed Creative Arts<\/em>. He received his MFA in Fiction from Vermont College.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><strong>__________<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n<div class=\"wp-block-image\">\n<figure class=\"alignleft size-full\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"438\" height=\"211\" src=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/37\/2024\/01\/boudin-logo-1.jpg\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-15484\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/37\/2024\/01\/boudin-logo-1.jpg 438w, https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/37\/2024\/01\/boudin-logo-1-300x145.jpg 300w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 438px) 100vw, 438px\" \/><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center has-large-font-size\"><a href=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/2024\/04\/30\/pre-obituary-for-a-rabbit\/\"> Back<\/a> | <a href=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/2024\/04\/30\/know-that\/\">Next <\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">To learn more about submitting your work to <em><a href=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/boudin-submissions\/\">Boudin<\/a><\/em> or applying to McNeese State University&#8217;s Creative Writing <a href=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/mfa-application-submissions\/\">MFA program<\/a>, please visit Submissions for details.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Dread Randall Brown __________ &nbsp;Attie shone the iPhone\u2019s flashlight in her sister Isabel\u2019s face and, with her left hand, knocked her awake. It had been only six hours since their dog Lucky returned after a week, mad, foaming, stumbling through the gates and into their seven acres on the Philadelphia\u2019s Main Line. Lucky\u2019s sickness still&hellip;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":42,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[205],"tags":[75,146],"class_list":["post-16566","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-boudin-april-24-pet","tag-boudin","tag-fiction-2"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16566","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/42"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=16566"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16566\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":18025,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16566\/revisions\/18025"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=16566"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=16566"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=16566"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}