Myopia
j.d. daniels
This one will be a Leo," Mrytle said, swiping her bangs off her sweaty forehead.  Her newest  just-hit-the-bookshelves buy, Orwell's Animal Farm lay on the table near her elbow.

"Ah, you don't know shit!  Last one, you was a month off," her husband mumbled.

Mrytle sniffed and patted her round belly.  Picking up a flyswatter, she swung.  "Got ya!" she said, flicking the dead fly onto the linoleum floor.

Edgar's face paled. "There ain't nothin` without right," he mumbled, gazing steadily at the insect.

"What you talkin` about?  Without right?  That don't make sense.  You ain't made sense since returning from the war. Get a grip."

Edgar, eyeing the fly over his raised thick-fingered hand, spit a wad of tobacco into the black spittoon by the table leg.

"And don't tell me again not to kill flies.  They carry germs!"

"Uh, huh." Edgar pulled more chew from his Red Man bag and fit it into his cheek.  His gaze did not leave the bug.

"Okay, Mr. Wise Guy, fess up.  What you tryin` to say?"

 "What I was saying, Miss Smarty Pants, is all evil doin`s rights itself."

Hunkering down, he scooped up the fly and placed it gently in the palm of his hand.  His eyes filled with tears.  "Just cause you read, don't mean you know everything."

Mrytle guessed she knew enough. That baby she'd lost last year.  What was the 'without right' in that?  There weren't none.

Grabbing her stomach, she gasped.


First published: August, 2011
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