Wrizzit
For everything, down to the scribbles.
For everything, down to the scribbles.
A naked reminder of traffic between her home and the pond, pounded smooth by clapping feet and the plastic wheels of his red wagon. The path was where she looked first. He wasn’t there. That evening’s dinner left on the stove, After hearing his halted scream. Who cares if the home burns down? Logic meaningless now as she crashed after her son. There, On the ground By the water… “Boy, what are you doing?!” “I found it momma!” Sitting, legs out, flat on his ass— Gripping it behind the head, tail rattling. “Uh.. yes, you did big boy. Keep holding onto it, and no kisses!” “Ok Momma, no kisses. You want to see him?” Six feet away. Six inches too close. Fangs, power and venom sat in the open mouth of her son’s new friend. Waiting for a wrong decision.