Kubs Klub

This is a flash fiction piece written by Alex Bregy in 2024. CW: Gun Violence.

The woods were our playground; trees to climb, sticks to whittle, and leaves to crunch. Our base—a pair of tree stumps deep in the woods, circled by berry bushes—was the most important part of the woods. Here, we made up our best games and spread the best gossip in the fourth grade. No one could find us out here—not parents, not bullies, and not even older siblings. 

As we sat on the stumps, a figure strolled towards us.  I wasn’t quite sure if he was a man or a ghost. He wore a black hooded cloak that covered his entire body. 

Aiden grabbed his sword—a long stick whittled into a sharp point at the end—and pointed it at the figure. “Who are you?” 

The figure turned to us. We couldn’t see his face, aside from a small sliver of his pale chin. 

“I am the leader of the Kubs Klub,” he said. 

“What’s the Kubs Klub?” I asked. 

“It’s a club for kids who like to play in the woods. You can come check it out, if you’d like.” 

Aiden and I shared a look. It would be nice to have other kids to play with. 

We followed him to the Kubs Klub’s base: a vast clearing with twenty or so stumps spread across it. 

“We’re about to put on a show,” he said. 

Aiden and I took a seat on two stumps. We faced a stage, made out of fallen trees, where twenty or so kids stood. Half of them were focused, ready to perform. The other half were restless, poking at each other and laughing. I had seen a lot of them before; some were even in my class. Others were little, just starting kindergarten. 

“Everyone please rise for the pledge of allegiance,” the tallest kid said. 

We stood and placed our hands on our hearts. Following the gaze of the children on stage, we turned to a tree with an American flag carved into it.

“I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America,” we all recited. 

Tiny tubes emerged from the trees. 

“And to the republic, for which it stands, one nation, under God.” 

The tubes clicked into place. No one seemed to notice. 

“Indivisible, with liberty and justice for-” 

The tubes shot bullets into the children on stage. They all fell to the ground, blood seeping into the dirt. 

Aiden and I ran and hid, just like we were taught to do. We found cover, just like we practiced in our classrooms. We shut our mouths and tried to breathe as little as possible. 

He looked for us, but he couldn’t find us. We did a good job. Our teacher would have given us a gold star. 

We were lucky. 

The next time I saw him was on the news a month later. The police tore off his cloak and forced his hands behind his back. 

Georgia School Shooting, the screen read. 4 dead, 9 injured. 

I wondered if they were part of the Kubs Klub. I wondered if they practiced in school.