Member-only story
Killing Hope
Dusty, 2018
Early in the morning, Dad tugs on his boots and heads for the door. I stand at the top of the stairs, my eyes slightly blurry and my hair still tousled with sleep.
“Dusty,” Dad says in a whisper. “Get your coat and shoes on and come feed with me.” It is a Saturday, so he is still wearing the pajama pants Mama made him and an old hoodie.
“OK!” I say excitedly, and I run back up the stairs and into my room to pull on my own beaten up tennis shoes and my favorite blue coat. July is still sleeping like a bear in hibernation. I don’t even have to be quiet; I clamor down the stairs after Dad, knowing that July won’t wake up to interrupt us and my other siblings are too small to go out in the cold this early.
Dad slips into his room for a moment to grab another feed scoop and I peek through the door after him. I can just see Mama’s shape, still half asleep in bed with the baby, as Dad leans over her and tells her we are going out to feed. “OK,” she murmurs. “You gonna make coffee when you’re done?”
“Of course,” Dad says with one of those smiles he has. I think Mama smiles back, but I can’t see her very well from here.
I follow Dad outside. It isn’t as cold as it has been, but there’s still a bite in the air and I can smell the smoke from the woodstove drifting across the yard. Dad…