And cute pic of Jack, the greatest showman
Ro was a good boy, Josi felt. She never believed Josiah when he called him a sinner, or a demon. “He needs an exorcism that boy,” he’d say. Josi hugged her brother tighter, prayed he didn’t understand. “It’s not true,” she’d whisper to him. Eventually, Josiah stopped calling Ro by his name, referred to him as Boy.
The sky was red, a blood moon. She was eleven-years old, budding, silent and sullen. Don’t you look up, girl, Dottie warned. She was always warning her, Get your nose out of that book. Get your behind over here. This night Dottie was all hair and bosoms, sitting on the metal glider, rocking back and forth on the front porch, cicadas loud and shrilling and Dottie set down next to Josiah, who was propped up against her, slumped and dumb, a, a bottle of something on his crotch. Beef stew wafting from the crockpot.