A little bit of fiction inspired by watching kangaroos hop in front of our car. It’s not as cute as it sounds. Also no kangaroos were hurt in the writing of this story.
There’s only one reason I’m here, gritting my teeth and averting my eyes. Anger isn’t the right emotion, and I’m not sure what has set me off.
Perhaps it’s the sound the shovel makes as it plunges into the Earth. The scraping of the rocks as they hit the forged steel, refusing to be shoved aside.
Perhaps it’s the rain, falling in cold sheets, water dribbling down my back and soaking into my bones, absorbed through my skin.
Or maybe it was the way they cried. The weeping torn from their souls as I filled the shallow grave with dirt. The children screaming.
But I’ll tell you what. That’s the last time I assume a kangaroo will jump out of the way of my car. I couldn’t leave it there, all broken on the road. Burying it seemed a kindness it didn’t afford me.