M.R. Lehman Wiens is a Pushcart nominated writer and stay-at-home dad living in Kansas. His work has appeared, or is upcoming, in F(r)iction, Consequence, The Wild Umbrella Literary Journal, and elsewhere. He can be found at lehmanwienswrites.com. "Pulse" is in Short Circuit #16, Short Édition's quarterly review.

You stare as the fence silently pulses, ready to shock curious sheep away. The pulse gives them time to retreat, to let go. If the power was continuous, you and the sheep would be stuck, glued to the fence until your muscles fried into meat. Stay within your pasture, the wires say. You reach out a trembling hand.
 
There's a split second before the crack of electricity, one where your brain thinks that the live wire wasn't live at all, and then the current is pulsing through your fingers, your arm, leaping from cell to cell, hungry for the ground. It grapples with every muscle it finds, wrenching control away from your brain, and your arm becomes possessed by a power that smacks your hand back against your chest and is gone. Your friends laugh at you, and the farmer boy with the slim waist and broad shoulders and brown eyes says, "I told you it hurts," but he does not speak unkindly. 
 
The other boys go, each of them sure that they can hold onto the fence for more than one pulse, each of them thrown back by the snap of the fence. A sheep bellows as you all laugh, and for a moment, you're not sure if the sheep is laughing or if you are all bleating. 
 
The farmer boy says he has no intention of touching the wires, says that he's been zapped by the fence enough times. No one else wants to go again, and the game ends. As you all walk back to the house, the smell of supper breaks through the wet wool dry hay old manure stink of the pasture. The boys around you break into a run, but you're slow, always the slowest.
 
The farmer boy turns mid-sprint and catches your eye, falling back to match your pace. Together, you slow to a walk, and he asks to see where the fence scorched you. There's an angry pink spot on your palm, and he winces. He squeezes your hand in both of his, the contact electric, and you pray that the power is continuous, and he won't let go.

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