by Scott Hughes
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While his mother slept, Oliver-as would most boys of seven-hid in a closet. There, by the light from under the door, he discovered a Mason jar beneath several musty afghans. His mom used these jars to can pickled eggs and homemade preserves. This jar contained something different suspended in clear liquid-more baby bird than human. It was mostly bulbous gray head. Lidless purple eyes. Holes where ears should've been. Translucent fingers like tiny caterpillars. Between its legs, the node of a penis.
Oliver tucked the jar under the afghans. He had a little brother on the way.
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