Dammit Jason -- flash fiction

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“Dammit Jason.”

“Honest Mom. I didn’t mean to kill her. She’d a killed me if I hadn’t done it.”

“Eighteen years old and you can’t handle your granny’s pig?”

“But she was gonna bite me. More’n bite me. She’d a killed me.”

“Dammit Jason. She’s a pig. Granny’s the one you’re gonna have to run from when she finds out you killed her pig.”

“That’s why I called you. I knew you’d know what to do.”

“You just be sure that blanket’s coverin’ up the floorboard. I swear the only danger my car’s ever been in has been you. You and your friends. Just two beers, my sweet Aunt Sassy. Smelled to high heaven for three weeks and now there’ll be blood all over.”

“But she ain’t bleedin’.”

“She ‘isn’t’ bleedin’.”

“I know, Mom. That’s what I just said.”

“Dammit, Jason. You said ‘ain’t.’”

“Yes, ma’am. Sorry.”

“You pick up her front part. I’ll get her back legs.”

“She’s still warm.”

“And why wouldn’t she be? I came right over didn’t I?”

“Mom! I think she moved.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Pick her up. She can’t bite you now. You just wait ‘til your father hears what you’ve done.”

“Do we have to tell him?”

“No, Jason. We don’t have to tell him anything. You have to tell him. Now get in the car.”

“Can I turn on the radio?”

“No, Jason. You can just sit there in the quiet and think about what you’ve done until we get out past the Simpson place.”

“We gonna dump her in the river?”

“No. We are not going to dump her in the river. I’d have nightmares for weeks thinking of that poor, dead, bloated pig driftin’ on down to the Gulf. Your Granny loved that pig.”

“Did you hear something?”

“No, Jason. I didn’t hear anything except your snufflin’.”

“I ain’t snufflin’. Isn’t. I’m not snufflin’.”

“We’ll dump her in that old irrigation ditch just this side of the levee.”

“Mom, she’s movin’.”

“Jason, wishing and imagining isn’t going to make her alive again.”

“Stop, Mom! We gotta get out. She’ll kill us both.”

“Dammit, Jason.”