G. E. Smith
“Mother, Edmund ran me through with a metal fencepost.”
“After you set me on fire,” Edmund said.
“Enough.” Mother looked at the entryway rug spackled with blood and bits of charred flesh. “That’s the third rug this week you two have ruined. Out, both of you.” Mother grabbed her purse and car keys and went outside.
“Where are you going?” Emily said.
“In town to get another rug.” Mother tore out of the driveway.
Edmund and Emily grinned at each other.
“Race you to the stump with the rusty hatchet in it,” Edmund said.
The two siblings sprinted off.
* * *
Mother tapped the steering wheel as the car idled at a T intersection.
LINDBURGH CITY 4 MILES
The sign arrow pointed left.
Mother put the convertible top down. She smiled, turned right, and floored the accelerator. Being an immortal single mom hadn’t been easy, but that was all about to change.