By Lee Thompson
Jim grinned. “If we cut his legs off, how far do you think he can crawl before he dies?”
Sometimes soldiers come back from war full of demons, like my older brother, Jim. He slapped my shoulder, grinning, his eyes shiny as the dark still water in Sullivan County’s gravel pit. I took a step back, sent stones rolling, and rubbed my arm. Sunlight soaked through the high trees at the edge of the property. Jim looked at Robert on the ground. I didn’t want to. Didn’t want to look at Jim either, but sometimes we do what we least want anyway, God knows why.
Jim grinned. “What do you think, Gabe?”
“I don’t know.”