Your father never allowed you to leave the house. Only with him, only during the day, in good, clear weather, and always with the dog.

He seldom left you and your older sisters and brother at home. Dad never told you what happened to Mom. You were always sad, because you were the only one in the family who did not see her. Rosie and Junie bit their lips as they prayed at dinner, and Tommy obediently imitated the actions of his father and sisters, just as you did.

However, Tyler still sometimes had to leave you all for a short time to go to the city, Dema. Then the peaceful silence of the area, the endless wheat and corn fields took on the form of an alarming inevitability. Father would give Rosie the gun, she held it in her fist until he arrived. Everyone had to stay together, not go to the windows, not make noise, sit quietly, and hardly move until Tyler was home again.

Blurryface. Tyler always turned to stone the moment that word, name, cry came from either of your lips. He would slap your lips with his hand, unceremoniously, making it clear that you were crossing boundaries, that was the only time then, and you dismissed that lesson forever.

Everyone was home today. Not a sound on Wednesday. Today the wind was strong, clouds covered the sky.

You and Junie, who was looking after you, were sitting on the threshold of the back terrace. What is that in the distance? It looks like the red ball that you have, your favorite. You look around the fenced-in backyard, frantically trying to find the ball. Jim is snoring peacefully in his doghouse, the grass rustling. No ball.

You carefully get down from the steps, Junie, staring at her phone, mutters something like "don't go over the fence" and doesn't look at you.

A minute, and you carefully approach the wheat field, the wheat ears are already up to your chest, the red spot is further and further. A silhouette is emerging around it. The red spot is only part of its head. You hear a tambourine, a steady beat, the bells echoing through the field.