"Don't you think being a farm boy is just... hell? My life's a goddamn bore.You wouldn't get it... You don't even know what I'm saying...I hate you all."
The voice cracked through the thick heat of summer—grumbling out of a boy half-buried in shit, both literally and otherwise. He was shoveling manure with the kind of face you don't draw in yearbooks. Even the cows didn't care. They chewed and chewed, like he was just air. Like he wasn't even there.
He gripped the rake harder, then slammed it to the ground.A couple cows looked up, blinked.
And then went right back to chewing.
Billy gritted his teeth, red-faced and steaming.
"Why the hell do I have to be knee-deep in crap while everyone else my age is off having the time of their lives somewhere? Goddamn lucky bastards…"
His breath came short and quick, like he wanted to scream it all out. But slowly, his shoulders slumped. His face softened, not with peace—just surrender.
"Forget it. No point thinking about it. I'll never change their minds… If I bring it up again… it might be like last time..."
The last part came out in a hush, like he wasn't telling anyone but himself.
"BILLY!"
He flinched. The voice hit like a hammer.
"Y-Yeah!?" he shouted back.
"You done with that shit yet?"
His father leaned just enough to look behind him, face pinched and annoyed.
"Almost done—"
"Better be done before dinner. If you wanna eat.And if you don't, I'll beat you again like last time."
Billy didn't even get to finish his sentence.
"Yes, sir," he said softly. Didn't look up. Just stared at the shit and held the rake again—not to swing, just to stay upright.
His father's footsteps drifted off. The shadow vanished.Silence crawled back in.
Billy kept shoveling. The stench clung to his nose like it wanted to kill him slowly.
And then—
A sound.
Soft. Whisper-thin.But it was there.
"Billy…"
He froze.
His heart stuttered.He turned fast, sharp.
No one.
The pen was still. Just cows. Still chewing. Still ignoring him.
No people. No footprints. Nothing.
But he knew what he heard.
"Let's get out of here, Billy…"
It came again. A little louder. A little closer.
It wasn't Dad's voice.Wasn't Mom's.Wasn't anyone from town.
He looked around—left, right, behind.
And then he saw it.
The cow.One of them.
Staring right at him.
It never looked at him before. Not like this.
It didn't blink. Didn't move.
Like it was listening.
Billy's skin went tight.He could feel eyes. Not see them—feel them.
He backed away slow, rake still in hand.
His heart pounded so loud it drowned out everything else.
He didn't say a word. Didn't ask.Didn't meet the cow's gaze again.
Just went back to work.
Like nothing happened.
Everything went quiet.
Was it the world?Or had Billy just stopped hearing?
He finished just before dinner. That meant no beatings tonight.
He walked home in silence, hoping for nothing more than a seat and a plate.
The door creaked open. A warm smell drifted out—meat, maybe.
But the house was quiet. Too quiet.
He looked left, then right. No one.
Then—A voice.
Barely above a whisper.
"He should be back any minute now…"
His mother.
Coming from the kitchen.
But her voice was... wrong. Too soft.Not the way she spoke to him.
There was something else in it.Something he didn't have words for.
He crept closer. Quiet like a ghost.
Stopped at the doorframe.
And there he saw it.
Uncle Devin.His dad's brother.
Middle-aged. Smelled like wet bread. That was the best way Billy could describe it. Like something rotting sweet. And that smile—always looked like it belonged to someone else's face.
Uncle Devin was holding his mother's hand.
In a way no uncle should be holding anything.
They were talking, but low. Too low to hear.But Uncle Devin's eyes—they looked at her like Billy had never seen in this house. Not ever.
And his mother…Wasn't pulling away.
Before Billy could catch more, Devin turned. Saw him.
His face twitched.Like he'd been caught.He recovered fast—but not fast enough.
His mom yanked her hand away, stepped back like nothing had happened.
"You're back, honey. Dinner's just ready. Uncle Devin stopped by. Say hello, sweetheart."
Billy blinked.The air was heavy.
But he nodded. Said the line.
"…Hi, Uncle Devin."
"Hey there, young man," Devin said with that off-brand smile."I'm heading out to the lake next weekend. Gonna do some fishing. Wanna tag along?"
"I don't fish," Billy said flat."I'll pass."
His voice was calm. But his eyes—locked on Devin.
Then—
Heavy steps down the hall.
His dad.
He walked in, sweat-soaked, grimy, breathing hard.
His presence sucked the air from the room.
"Devin. So that's where you've been."
Voice low. Steady. Too steady.
"Been here long? What's life treating you like these days?"
Devin smiled—forced again."Just stopped by. Figured I'd say hi. Not much going on."
"That so?"
His dad clapped a hand on Devin's shoulder. The sound was louder than it should've been.
"Then stay for dinner. Mom made meat pie. You still like that, don't you?"
Billy's mom froze when he said it.
Just for a second.But Billy caught it.
Then she smiled.Walked to the oven.Didn't say a word.
"Sit and eat with us, Devin," Dad said. Then looked at Mom.Then Billy.
"And I'm sure my boy doesn't mind. Right?"
Billy nodded.Slow.
"…No, sir."
His hands clenched at his sides.
He looked at his uncle.
At his mother.
Then his father.
Still smiling.
Maybe dinner would go down easier with pie.