The Teacher
A short story
1.
It was still dark when Owen woke up. Sweat was clinging to his t-shirt. He peeled it off and threw it into the pile at the foot of the bed, rolled over and checked the alarm clock. 4:18. He’d slept less than three hours. Had there been a gunshot outside, or had the sound he thought he heard been only the explosion in his dream? No matter what he did, the dream always ended with the explosion, with him rooted to the spot, open-mouthed and impotent. However his subconscious mind tried to maneuver the pieces after the fact, nothing could ever stop what was done. The ground still erupted and Rute was still dead.
Reality began to percolate back into Owen’s senses. There were noises outside the door. From the sounds and smell of it, Wayne had finally stumbled home and was burning something in the kitchen. Owen pushed his bedroom door open and peered out into the hall. Sure enough, Wayne was swaying idly in front of the stove, dressed in an ill-fitting black suit and swigging from a bottle of Jack, a dark blue bandana hanging from his back pocket. Owen snorted.
“You were flagging at a funeral?” he asked.
Wayne shrugged without looking up and picked up a piece of bacon. His three hairless dogs clustered around his feet, pawing at him. Wayne dropped the bacon down to them, murmuring slurry words of love.
