CAGED

He trapped a cricket between two fingers, placed it in a jar with its other trapped comrades and shut the lid. He shook the jar and put it to his ear. He smiled as the merry chirps tantalised his ear buds.

"Kelvin, Kelvin!" Now this sound, he did not like. The rawness in the voice foretold of dire consequences for his afternoon rendezvous into the fields.

He run back towards the house as fast as his feet, a little too tiny for his age, could carry him. He found his mother standing infront of the house. At first glance, he thought his mother hand her hands on her waist, angry that he had ventured too far into the woods. He feared to approach any further but as he did, he saw that her mother had bruises on her face and a cut lip, and no, her hands weren't on her hips, she was only hugging herself.

Kelvin, wait. She threw her hands around wildly as she communicated to him in sign language. Your father is not well again. You need to go straight to your room when you get into the house.

He frowned knowing full well what his mother meant by his father not feeling well.

I am twelve, not dumb! He gestured back angrily.

Don't play smart with me. Go to your room now!

He clutched the jar to his chest and stomped away, every step a declaration of rage and disdain. The decaying wood of the staircase and porch creaked in assent to his sentiments.

Blinded by his fit of anger, he hit his leg on the doorsill and stumbled into the house. The crickets chirped loudly in response to the onslaught.

"The fuck!" His father roared loudly from the hall. "What is that noise. Kelvin is that you! What the devils are you bringing into my house."

Menacingly slow steps approached him.

He stepped back onto the porch. His father stood at the door and looked down at him. Bloodshot eyes locked with little terrified ones and when Kelvin made to flee, large hands seized him by the chest right in the nick of time.

"What"

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"makes"

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"you"

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"think"

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...

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...

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....

He heard his mother scream but her piercing cry was muffled by the ringing in his eyes. Everything split in two before he dropped the jar to the ground and collapsed still in his father's grasp. He heard the glass break and blacked out to the blurring cry of caged crickets.

When Kelvin came to, the dark skies had taken the place of the blue afternoon bliss. He sat up quickly and had to hold his head when everything began to dance in circles around him.

Soon enough his brain registered the thunderous chirp of crickets by his side. Picking up the jar, he inspected it by holding it to the moon. It revealed a single crack at up bottom of the jar. He hugged it to his chest in joy.

He was suprised to find his crickets still in the jar. Even if the glass jar was not shattered, he expected his father to throw it away.

For a split second, all the crickets quietened, and that was when he heard a smothered yelp come from inside the house.

Kelvin entered the house. His father was sitting on top of his mother, pounding furiously into her. Something slick and dark had pooled under his mother unresponsive body.

Something raw and broken welled inside him and escaped from his lips. The sound was foreign to his ears. It sounded like a roar but had a yawn quality to it.

His father turned sharply to look at him then.

"Your mother," he shrieked, "She fell to the ground a-and broke her head." His father never stammered.

The foreign sound hit his ears again, louder and more of a roar now. He could scarcely believe that it was his own voice.

"No, you have to believe me!" His father in a panicked effort stood up and took a step away from his mother's body. Kelvin immediately stepped back.

"I will never..." He made an attempt to grab hold of Kelvin but missed and slipped unto the floor. He made several unsuccessful attempts to get up. "Let me explain. I didn't do a..." He only splurged further in the dark goo as he made desperate attempts to get back on his feet.

Kelvin did not wait to hear the rest, he dashed out of the house and headed for the woods. Their neighbours cabin wasn't far off. If only he could only get there he would be safe.

He had not taken five steps away from his house when he heard his father yell, "If you know what's good for you, you won't take another step, boy!" The threat was immediately followed by the sound of two pumps of his father's old shotgun.

We turned to face his father who was pointing a shotgun at his head.

You were not always like this. You used to take me to school and go to work, remember? What happened? Why did you kill my mum! Kelvin gestured to his father, defeated and deadened.

"You better speak up, boy!"

I can't! He gestured before throwing the jar angrily at his feet. He had wanted to speak out, tell him all the things he had bottled up for years but for the third time that night he could only roar.

The jar broke open and the crickets immediately hopped out, glad that once again they were free to frolick with no restrictions.

However, most of them simply jumped at his father who for the life of him could not tolerate anything that crept, flew or jumped.

As he swiped the insects away from him his hand lightly pressed on the trigger.

The impact of the bullet pinned Kelvin down to the ground. As Kelvin fell, he saw the gun also fall from his father's hand. The second bullet was discharged. Then his father also hit the ground.

The crickets stopped chirping and the wind stopped blowing, for nature itself wanted to listen in on what had just happened.

Kelvin laid still in the grass as did his father.

"K-kelvin." The silent spell was broken as his father sputtered his name. He sat up and looked at his father. Blood had pooled under him just like his mama.

"Help..." Kelvin quickly rushed to him. But the grass made slicker by his father's blood caused him to slip and fall. His two hands found the gun instead of the ground when he sought for support to get off the ground.

He knelt by his father who was making gurgling sounds. The bullet had hit his chest and he was bleeding profusely. Kelvin tried to stop the bleeding with his hands but that only seemed to make it worse.

Immediately his father ceased his gurgling, the blare of a sirens hit his ears. He sat on the grass and drew his knees into his chest. Tears filled his eyes as conflicting thoughts filled his head. On one hand, he felt the full force of sheer pain and grief and on another, he felt as free as the crickets.

The sirens got closer and closer till they got to his house. Strange people prodded and examined him but he could not respond.

"He just grazed his chin." A man who did most of the prodding told a police officer. He looked like a doctor but Kelvin could not be sure if he was one.

"Okay, load up those two." The officer pointed at two black bags that held the bodies of his parents.

"You can finish bagging up the evidence, I'm taking the kid to the station for questioning."
He led Kelvin to a car and put him at the back.

When he looked around and saw the glass windows that surrounded him he suddenly felt nauseous.

Why did he feel like a cricket who had just jumped from one jar only to land in another jar. He hated the siren's blare- so unlike the crickets'. Fear paralysed him. What if he never got to hear the crickets chirp again?

---

Thank you @TraciYork for making me do this. I wish I could be more consistent. Also, is that a cricket? Please tell me it's a cricket because the more I look at the image the more I'm convinced it is a butterfly. Haha!

To my precious readers, thanks for reading. Share your thoughts and critiques.

And to myself, who knew writing about crickets will be one of the hardest things you've ever had to write about. Inspiration didn't come easy but you forged found it! Take a pat on the back and go straight to bed and yea, don't drink too much water before you sleep. You don't want to be waking up every other minute and end up checking steemit till morning.

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