First time, I was doing laundry.
Joey Jr. handed me a drawing. “It’s you.”
I smiled at his effort. Until I gazed at the artwork. Birds pecking my eyes. Next day, walking to my garage, two crows swooped down, talons grabbing my hair.
Another time, on vacation, illustration of me on a stretcher. Hiking the following day, I slipped into a ravine. They airlifted me out.
I sent Joey to boarding school. Yesterday’s mail arrived with a picture of a demon dragging me up the basement stairs.
I hear my ex-lover’s car rattling out front. No sense locking the doors.
“I’m shopping a novel, and I write short fiction to hone (or develop) my craft.” – the writer