He Promised to Destroy an Entire Civilization, He Just Didn’t Say Which One
by Kathleen Latham
I’ve given in to the squirrels, given up on the bird feeders. I’m reduced to tossing seeds on the ground like buckshot, the world spinning so fast it’s hard to stay upright, the squirrels taking and taking, the yard a scatter of seeds and shit and tufts of hair.
The birds themselves are long gone. Maybe I’ll join them—climb my neighbor’s hedge and disappear—and what would the bastards do then? Eat my garden, my doormat, my house, then your house, then the whole damn street? Chew and chew until there’s nothing left and we can’t find our way back— all of us changed, all of it gone.
Kathleen Latham’s work has appeared in The Cincinnati Review and The Ilanot Review and received awards from Writer’s Digest, the Bridport Prize, and Bath Flash Fiction. She lives near Boston. Find more at kathleenlatham.com.
Photo by Aidan Kahng on Unsplash
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