I Pushed the Dishwasher Closed by Bethany Fink

 

​I pushed the dishwasher closed, careful not to rip my headphones out of my ears. My brother and I were home alone. It was my turn for chores.

​I hopped down the stairs, wiggling my hips and waving my arms like a madman. I quickly poured out a portion of food for each of my dogs. One scoop, two scoops. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

​My dogs ate up the food. I mouthed the words to the song and mimicked drumming the beats. Once they were done, I let them outside, their tails wagging happily behind them. I smiled slightly.

​I called out my brother’s name. I didn’t hear him call back, but my music could’ve been blocking the sound.

​His door was already open slightly. I took out my phone and clicked the volume down. I put my hand on the door and pushed.

​My jaw hung open. My phone hit the floor, the album art disappearing as the headphones were unplugged. Time slowed to a crawl. I cried out, running across the room. My knees gave out under me. I tried to read the piece of paper on the ground, but the words blurred together. My eyes drifted upwards to my brother’s feet, swaying inches from the floor.