Our son is studying animal behavior. Zoosemiotics. When I’m in the yard, pushing tiny gladiola seeds into the soil, he points out bees doing a waggle dance, telling their friends where to find snapdragons. The flowers are right there – pink purple orange red. Six for $18.99 at Home Depot. Do bees have bad eyesight? he asks.

My husband bought a gun the other day at Walmart. He keeps it in a cigar box in the back of our bedroom closet. Not a good idea, I tell him. But he’s convinced when the looting starts, we need to defend ourselves. I stopped watching the news a while ago, so it’s hard to argue. War is stupid, our son says. There’s a picture in his science book of whales using clicks, whistles and songs to talk to each other over long distances in the ocean. Why can’t people be more like animals? he asks us. 

Frogs croak loudly to attract mates, especially after it rains. We’re experiencing a drought here in Ouray, Colorado, so I don’t know how the frogs find one another. I water the snapdragons no more than once a week. Each night, my husband clings to me, sweaty and fearful. He lost his job in February when the ski resort closed. Not enough snow. No one’s in the mood to ski anyway. Can we get a frog? our son asks.

My husband tells me they bombed Los Angeles. Stores are closed. Gas stations, closed. Our son’s school, closed. He’s doing a book report on apes, how they have 80 different ways to express themselves, how they scratch each other softly to indicate they want to be groomed. When I grade it, I give him an A++. It hasn’t rained in eleven months. Did you know apes scream hoo hoo hoo to find their families? he asks.

Our son is standing in the living room holding the gun. Out the window, the mountains rise up, purple shadowed, haloed in a thickening cloud of dust. My husband has taken the truck. The gun looks gigantic in my son’s hand. Put that down! Behind him, on the table, is an elephant collage. How they touch each other with their trunks to comfort. He strokes the gun like it’s a beloved pet. Is this even real? he asks.  

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Beth Sherman’s novella-in-flash, How to Get There from Here, will be published in July 2026 by Ad Hoc Fiction. She has had more than 250 stories featured in literary journals, including Ghost Parachute, Fictive Dream, Bending Genres and Smokelong Quarterly, where she’s a Submissions Editor. Her work appears in Best Microfiction 2024 and 2026 and Best Small Fictions 2025. The author of five mystery novels, she can be reached on social media @bsherm36.