By Jay D. Falcetti

After a particularly torrential night, a little boy woke up and witnessed how the storm had changed his yard by covering it with mud, clay, stones, and branches. It didn’t take too long before he decided to make himself a little brother. 

Using the hard clay, silt, and mud, he formed a small body. Using branches for the arms, and two shiny stones for the eyes, the boy stood back and admired his work. 

As the boy took a few steps back, a stranger’s shadow enveloped him and his mud-made brother. 

“What do you have there?” the stranger asked. His face was shrouded within the folds of a large hood.

“My brother,” responded the boy, very matter-of-fact. 

“When the sun is at the highest point in the sky, grab onto your brother and give him three kisses on the head.” The stranger’s voice was a harsh wheeze. The boy imagined them as an elderly silver fir, the wind speaking through the branches.

Turning towards his mud creation, the boy opened his mouth to ask a question, but the stranger was gone. 

Tilting his head toward the sky, the boy saw the sun was nearly at the highest point. A rushing electric spark within the boy told him to do as he was asked. When the sun caused the trees around him to barely cast a shadow the boys closed his eyes, leaned forward and kissed the clay pressed lump he imagined was the head three times. 

The earthy smell stayed with him as he opened his eyes, finding his wide-eyed little brother staring right up at him. Delighted he squealed, jumping up and down, holding the brother he made so tightly.

Both boys played and played, until their sides were sore, and when the sun touched the mountains in the distance, it was time to go home.

Nervously, the boy led his little brother quietly into the house. Pausing, he didn’t hear his mom bustling about as she normally would be.

“Mama!” he shouted, “Mom?”

“Dinner’s ready!” His mother called, gasping when she saw the additional little boy. 

“I made him, mama.” The boy teetered proudly up and down on his feet. 

“Where is your family?” the mom asked little brother. But he couldn’t respond, the boy who made him was the only family he knew. 

“We’re his family.” The boy responded, leading him to the kitchen table. The mother hesitated, unsure of what to say. It was hard to miss the toothy smile across her son’s face. 

Dinner that evening was one of the best the boy and his mother had experienced in a long time. With hearts warm and bellies full, the boys shared a bed for the night.

The following morning, when the boy opened his eyes, his brother was no more than the dirt, clay, and rocks he’d used to build him with. Dissolving into tears, his mother rushed in. 

“He’s gone!” The little boy couldn’t control his sobs. “Bring him back.” The boy begged his mother. 

While the mother held her son, she whispered, “We can build, create, and love. And sometimes, when the sun comes up, we’re reminded that buildings and our creations fall. Your love will last. You will see him again someday.” The mother held her boy with her body and heart.

On the night of a thunderous storm, the boy now an old man, lay down for bed. When he closed his eyes, he did see his little brother once more.

*   *   *

Jay D. Falcetti (she/her) is a biracial Indigenous writer based in Washington, where she lives with her family. Her short stories have appeared in various print and online magazines. She writes fantasy, horror, science fiction, and literary fiction. Connect with her and discover her published work on Instagram @jdfalcetti. Jay D. Falcetti is a pen name.