A voice rang out through the intercom and cut off his explanation:
Attention staff and students, we are currently in a state of lockdown. No one is allowed in or out of the building until further notice. Again, we are in lockdown. No one is allowed in or out of the building. That is all.
The voice faded, and James turned from the speaker to look back at his students, both of whom looked entirely unfazed.
A filthy SUV had pulled up next to him. Its original color was unrecognizable, as it looked like the car hadn’t been washed since last February and it was now nearing the end of July. There were distorted stickers on the windshield and bumpers of the Tahoe, and a little American flag attached to the radio antennae. A man wearing a bandanna with the knot tied on his forehead glared down at Nate from the passenger seat. He looked like he too possibly hadn’t been washed since February. His glare turned to a sneer, and he motioned for Nate to roll down his window.
The strangest thing though, I never feel the punch land. I’m fainting, falling to the ground, staring at the chewing gum stuck under my seat as I hit the concrete. The stadium grows quiet. Then it grows dark.
Mary-Kate laughed, and James smiled as he watched her bring a charging cable over to a shelf of matching products. Her laugh was somewhat musical, and it paired nicely with whatever Miles Davis song was playing. As Mary-Kate returned from the shelf, James pretended to be focused on his clipboard as he raced to think of something clever to say.
Then I noticed the moon. Larger than usual, it was resting at a peculiar angle, right on the horizon and donning a bright orange hue. It seemed to be nearing its fullest state, a waxing gibbous four or five days away from its climax. Why the strange angle though? And why the orange hue?
Waves lapped at the side of the skipjack as the captain maintained his course straight ahead until the lighthouse was the size of a penny in the skipjack’s peripheral. The families became farther and fewer as they drew nearer the fishing pier, but one sight drew Aaron’s eye to the base. About ten to fifteen blue containers were lined up some fifty feet back from the coastline. A group of men were standing behind them. As they got closer, Aaron could see that the men were dumping fishnets into the containers, half of which seemed to be already overflowing.
Ms. Julie smiled slightly as she wrapped the box in packaging paper, but the man couldn’t help but notice the smile had deviated from the playful one he knew. It was a sadder smile, a smile that remembered a time when glass butterflies were more luxurious than golden trinkets. The man paid for the necklace and made his way towards the front door.
She remembered her tea, still steeping on the kitchen counter. Inside the cottage, she picked up her copy of Paradise Lost and motioned for Freydís to follow her back out to the porch. Freydís lay down next to Marianne as she read and sipped her chamomile. It was nearly noon, and the sun found its way through the clouds as Marianne followed Gabriel’s messengers on their way to the Garden of Eden. Her tulips flared like torches in her garden as Satan took the form of an adder in Milton’s landscape. A doe and her fawn pranced through the field behind the church and disappeared into the woods right near the path’s entrance. As Eve ate the fruit, Marianne remarked on how the garden of Eden might just as well be her own.
Mikey’s eyes glinted mischievously. He hadn’t even been trying to fry bugs, but it was getting boring studying mushrooms. He glanced over at Aaron. He doubted his little brother even knew what ‘frying bugs’ meant. The kid wasn’t even allowed to watch PG movies without their mother watching. Mikey glanced back at the house. The silhouettes in the window had vanished.
