J. Otis Haas

April Holiday

Six months after the mass suicides April received a cardboard box full of her twin brother’s personal effects from the police. She ignored it for a week, things accumulating in piles around it on the counter as she tried to make sense of her sudden inheritance. She opened the box the same morning she stared at the sun. The six-shooter was inside, sealed up in an evidence bag with her brother’s name and case number written on it in black marker. March Holiday. March and April. They’d been born thirteen minutes apart on either side of midnight and Dad had always had a sense of humor. Mom didn’t make it. Happy Birthday. April Fools.