An Alberta summer.

Warning: This story contains multiple sensitive themes, such as sexual violence, mental health, substance abuse, physical violence, strong/ foul language, gore, and abuse.

“Hell yeah! You brought the good stuff!” Bobby yelled as he scurried towards the open cargo bed of Randy’s truck. Bobby was a small man—a dwarf, if you insist—and so were his wife and their daughter Kennedy. McKinney, however, had not caught the strand of dwarfism; she had been deemed the lucky one after she had a growth spurt that made her slightly taller than her elder sister.

“Whoa, that’s about 6 packs; you got there.” He said as he examined the Bud light packs, ripped one open, and downed a whole can.

“Hey, don’t get drunk before dinner.” Randy smiled as he struggled to unload Marcus’s wheelchair. Randy assembled the wheelchair with ease and moved it towards the passenger seat, where Marcus waited.

“Fuck ya Randy! What the hell have you been feeding the kid?” Bobby asked as he caught a glance at Marcus struggling to get on his wheelchair. “Can I get some of that? It isn’t easy doing farm work like this.” he hinted at his body.

“Rare steak.” Randy replied.

“Fuck no! ya might as well grab one of the calves in the barn and start chewing on it.” Bobby responded.

Marcus got in his wheelchair, and Bobby gestured to him to lower his head so he could ruffle it a bit.

“I am glad to see ya doing alright Marcus.”  

Being crippled is not alright; that was something that Marcus held within in order not to ruin the mood between the brothers. Being on the farm came with a shadow of grief, as he had lost the use of his legs on this property. The hill on the west side of the farm had snatched his mobility when he fell off it years ago as a kid. Kennedy and McKinney had witnessed it; it was they who had called in for help that saved the boy’s life, however not his legs or state of mind.

“You’re fucking right. There’s barely anything growing.” Randy muttered, his lips barely moving as he examined the field, which barely clung to life.

“Yep, I told ya. The canola, wheat, and barley haven’t budge since last month.” Bobby sighed and dusted his cap. “We are in debt; we barely got any livestock left; everything is going to Claresholm just to keep things steady a bit. I had to cut the shifts of a lot of farm hands, and I assume a shitload of them are about to leave us, and I don’t blame them.”

“You should fire some of em.”

“Already did. It’s the serious ones we got left, and those I am not trying to lose yet. Loyalty and handwork are like fucking water nowadays. We bought three new pivots, and it still isn’t fucking doing anything. We got four of our guys in the house close to the barn; it’s summer, and they wanted to stay close to work and not drive to Lethbridge every day.”

“I get it,” Randy sighed. “well. We got work to do; let’s get dinner.”

“Sure, let me call the farmhands. They’re having dinner with us, so I can introduce ya to each other.” Bobby stated as he pulled his phone out.

McKinney was gazing out her window, looking at her father, uncle, and cousin heading into the house. Soon, her mom would call her to come have dinner. Dusk was probably an hour away from now, despite it being 7p.m—Alberta in the summer always had relatively longer days. She fixed her gaze on the plots that had been plagued with drought, which had seedlings that were either dormant or shriveled.

Half of the plots, despite their intricate rows of seedlings, yielded little to nothing. Lethbridge County had always been dry, relative to its northern neighbors, but this drought made it seem like autumn had come too early. She stretched a bit in hopes that it might mitigate the soreness of her muscles. Her left upper arm itched a bit and began to redden slightly, probably from a mosquito bite. Farmwork had never been her thing, but her parents needed help, and she needed to be out of town.

“McKinney! It’s time for dinner. Your uncle and cousin just got here.” Sophie yelled from downstairs.

“I will be down there in a bit.” McKinney responded.

McKinney walked sheepishly to her closet, perusing for more comfortable clothing; she settled for a purple legging and cream hoodie, which she wore over a sleeveless crop top. She stretched a bit more and proceeded to head downstairs.

“Fuck it, I got to head to Calgary this night!” Randy exclaimed.

“Shush! No swearing at dinner.” Sophie scorned.

“Come on, the kids are all grown up now.” He took a bite of his chicken and noticed McKinney descend the stairs. “McKinney! How’re you doing? You’re all grown up now.”

McKinney greeted Randy with a smile, pulled back the chair on the farthest end of the table, and sat down.

“I am doing okay, not too bad.” She responded.

“That’s…good…… to…. hear.” Randy mumbled while chewing.

“How’re you doing, Marcus?” McKinney inquired as she stretched to grab a plate.

Marcus gave a nod of acknowledgement and continued with his meal.

“Where’s Kenneth? Is he doing okay?” Randy questioned.

“Kennedy.” Bobby and Sophie echoed.

“And she is doing fine.” Sophie added.

“Ooh yea. I forgot that happened. I thought it was just a phase. Well, I am happy for him...Excuse me, her!” Randy stated.

That’s not how any of this works. McKinney thought to herself, transitioning is not a phase.

“Yea, she’s still working for the Lethbridge Herald back in the city; I heard from McKinney that she got promoted to being an editor.” Bobby interjected. “Also, how’s Sue?”

“I haven’t seen that fucking nun in ages. She’s probably caught up with church and shit.” Randy replied.

“Randy! She’s your sister.” Sophie scolded. “And stop it with the cussing.”

“She’s our sister, but none of us took preaching as a full-time job.” Bobby snapped back.

The farmhands had walked in on them having their meals and gently joined either Randy or Bobby on either side of their table. Afuom was a tall Ghanaian international student who was chasing a computer science degree at the University of Lethbridge. Anthony was a blonde fellow of average height, a bit lanky, and had his left ear pierced. Debbie, who was a student at Lethbridge College, was aiming for a degree in agricultural sciences, and finally Brad, who had spent most of his time on one farm or another and was currently absent.

“I am telling you that Tony can work like a machine.” Bobby’s voice echoed as McKinney began to fall into herself, a delve into the absence of her mind. Her gaze, previously fixed on nothing, fell on the glass salad bowl as she watched it being passed from one person to another. Marcus noticed this and handed her the bowl; she seemed startled when she had it placed before her. She smiled at Marcus as a means of showing gratitude and picked up the bowl; on contact with the bowl, the mosquito bite on her left arm had escalated to a piercing pain. She immediately let go of the bowl, letting it fall to the ground and transforming it into a thousand shards. With her right hand still clutching the pain spot in her left arm, she could not help but focus on the shards that lay on the floor, glistering so beautifully.

“McKinney! Oh my God! Are you okay?” Sophie asked as she rushed to her daughter’s aid.

“Yes, mom, I am fine.” McKinney stated while still having her gaze on the shards of glass.

“Hope ya’ren’t hurt?” Bobby inquired as he walked towards her.

“I am not bleeding, so I am fine.” McKinney responded.

“What happened?” Sophie persisted.

“It’s just a mosquito bite acting up; I will put some after-bite on it now.”

McKinney had just realized that everyone had finished dinner and were engaged in a conversation with one another, except for her. How long was I zoned out for? She thought.

“Well. I will be back later tonight.” Randy got up. “I need to go to Calgary to see if I can grab some fertilizer before tomorrow. Glad you’re okay, McKinney; I am aware this is bad timing, but I got to leave before it gets too late.”

McKinney gave a nod of acknowledgement and ignored her parents, who had now flocked her and were panicking; she got up as well and headed to the basement to grab a new pack of after-bite. She took off her hoodie to reveal the sleeveless crop top she had worn underneath it. She opened the pack of after-bite, uncrewed the tube, and pushed some of the fluid onto her right index finger. She examined the bite, which had now doubled in size and was red as an ember. Is this actually a mosquito bite? She thought as she examined the bite further. Her inspection was interrupted by a thump from upstairs. She rushed upstairs to see the table had been cleared already and everyone had left; she slowly approached the kitchen.

“Mom. Dad?” McKinney called out.

She moved a bit further to find her dad on the floor, lying on his back with his throat opened, and the blood spurting out of the wound. She watched as his life gradually slipped from his grasp into that of death’s, yet she did not aid him. She did not know what to do. The pain of the bite was twice as strong now; She inspected the bite, and now it had transformed into an abscess, bulging and full of pus. The skin around it had sores around it. She was lightheaded and confused. She looked ahead of her to find the backdoor open and the cool breeze hitting her.

“Mom?” She called out as she stepped into the darkness. A few more steps from there, McKinney found her mom sprawled on the floor, with her entrails seeping from within her to greet the evening air; her blood spilled on the soil. McKinney caught a glimpse of a silhouette within the canola fields, and immediately she backed up slowly. However, she realized it was a scarecrow, but it had been too late; she bumped into someone as she stepped back. Brad was clad in a black hoodie and armed with a kitchen knife, and then he tackled her. The struggle began, and McKinney knew this was a struggle for life; she punched and succeeded in disarming him. Then she ended up on top of him—luckily—and realized that killer was her cousin Marcus. He can’t walk; why would he even kill them? She thought. But that could not calm her in the slightest; she proceeded to wrap her hands around his neck and started to squeeze. Marcus began to struggle and shake violently as his breath left him. Then it was done; he had died from asphyxiation. However, Marcus had not been the one dead on the floor, nor was it Brad. It was someone with an uncanny resemblance to her. The dead lady had barely any teeth left in her mouth, her skin wrinkled as if she was a crone, and her…….

“Mr. Kenneth Crow! Apologies… Mrs. Kennedy Crow.” I could hear the judge misgender me and recover from it gracefully. Kenneth was my deadname and still my legal name, until I get my name change completed. The judge had been sympathetic enough to call me Kennedy and had a lot of mishaps in doing so.

“Did your father—the deceased—sexually assault you and your sister while you were under his care?” the judge asked of me.

The courtroom was full and silent; I looked around and saw the men I had imagined as Afuom, Anthony on their phones. Debbie and Brad, who I assumed were a couple, stared directly at me. Uncle Randy stared hard at me with an expressionless face, a face he always had, a face that had this expression of ‘let’s get over this’ written on it. His brother was dead, but he could not give two fucks about that now. I took a glance at Aunt Sue, who had dressed and acted like it was a funeral by cladding herself in all black and was sobbing constantly. “Do you not know how to grieve for your father?” She had asked me before the proceeding; I had smiled at her, and she had sobbed more miserably as she walked to her seat. I took a glance at McKinney, the real one, the drug-addicted one who had murdered our parents some weeks ago. Then I fixed my gaze on my fiancé—the only actually little person I have known—and he gave a nod of approval.

“Yes, he did so.” I responded as tears formed in my eyes.

My grief was not for the imbecile Bobby Crow I had grown with, but for the one I had imagined in court today. A loving father with a family of little people. I had to make it seem so that I could love them, just the way my partner did. Felix had embraced me when Sophie and her husband rejected me for being myself. In contrast, the Bobby I knew was an absolute savage who should have died sooner. I had shared with him in my childhood that I felt like a woman, and that unfortunately became a vindication for him to crawl into my bed drunk at night. No one was spared from his wrath, not even mom; he would beat her to stupor, and she would be passed out for hours. Mom was also not clear of sin; when dad was not around, she would beat us for the slightest mishaps—perhaps to establish whatever authority she imagined she had over herself or others around her. It was possibly the worst way to have established a little autonomy over herself while her children lost theirs to her and their father.

Marcus had pushed McKinney down the hill that day while we were teens; she had broken her leg and could not walk for months. Marcus had denied the whole thing, despite us having witnessed it. Father had claimed that we were ‘fond of stirring up trouble’. Marcus now currently works as a bank manager in downtown Lethbridge, while the push he gave my sister destroyed her life. McKinney got addicted to the pain medication, and the timing coincided with when she was meant to join me at the university. I did not pass on the opportunity to get her off that wretched place; she was a few weeks from being completely recovered anyway. McKinney had a full recovery from her broken leg but not from the pain medication—they were not hitting as hard. So, she took to the streets to find something stronger, and with Lethbridge, that greater force was meth. With years of cycling in and out of rehab, she gradually became a losing war.  McKinney was homeless and began roaming the city, and soon she found herself in a homeless shelter, but with the drought also came food shortages, and the shelter made calls to people who still had somewhere to go.

I had begged a friend heading to Calgary to drop McKinney off at my parents’ place in Lethbridge County, and he did so. McKinney was welcomed in by mum, who was dismayed to see her daughter become a tragedy. Then the scoundrel came in, and she lost it. McKinney had a full psychotic breakdown, and the next thing was my parents’ murder. The farmhands—I confess, I do not know what they look like—found both mum and dad dead and McKinney covered in blood on the sofa, sitting with eyes wide open. McKinney had stated that mum’s death was an accident while dad’s was intentional—I am glad dad’s throat was opened with spite.

Felix was sound asleep and was snoring heavily, yet he looked so adorable from this side of the room; he was the sweetest thing one could ever imagine. That is why my grief was recreated in his image; the absence of him would make me go insane.