“Off now,” he said. “Off.” As he pushed at Romeo with the spout, the bottle slipped from his hands and fell crashing to the sidewalk.

Mr. Perkin heard the glass shatter as he turned onto Main Street. His wife had not brought him his lunch that day, and with the help of a cane, he was irritably making the trip home for a sandwich. Mr. Perkin looked up from his shoes and saw his head taffy puller being attacked. He recognized the yellow comb of his wife’s favorite chicken.

Mr. Perkin was a businessman. He did not often miss opportunity. He watched for it, and when it came he took it in hand. Mr. Perkin hobbled to Emeline’s side. He raised the cane over his shoulder. He swung, landing a blow to Romeo’s head, and the bird toppled to the ground. Mr. Perkin then stood over the rooster and beat it to death with his cane.

There were reasons, Mr. Perkin thought, for doing things. He believed in getting what he wanted. He also believed in taffy. It was his base, on which he had built a life that pleased him. This is it, he thought as he broke the rooster’s neck. This business, this taffy puller, this missing sandwich. This was who he was. There was blood spilling from the mouth of the bird, pooling on the hard, dry ground. Mr. Perkin moved his feet out of the way and noticed that his laces had come undone.

It was inappropriate, he realized, to ask the girl he had just saved or the man he had just fired to tie his shoes. He glanced down Main Street, then at Thomas Dewey’s shop. There was a woman standing at the window in a pair of silver frames, a black wrap across her shoulders. Her fingertips were pressed against the glass, five points spread like a mouth in surprise. Alan Perkin stood, laces trailing, and waited. Surely, he thought, he could depend on her to come.

Bloodworks

bloodworks

Richard was tired of asking the same question: Why did you do that? He said this to Lucas after his son stopped completing his homework, after he knocked over an old woman for taking too long to get on the bus, after he ran past the dining room table, grabbed the tablecloth, and turned their meal onto the floor. Richard knew that something was wrong with his son. He walked around at night and thought, There are too many rooms in this house.

Richard and Marianne sent their ten-year-old to his room; no TV, no dinner, no dessert. They tried talking, they tried spanking, and finally, when he would not listen or stop smacking his sister, they pinned Lucas to the ground until he conceded, until he stopped kicking, biting, scratching, and went limp, the red slowly draining from his face.