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.
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“I’m shopping a novel, and I write short fiction to hone (or develop) my craft.” – the writer
thedrabble.wordpress.com 
I enjoyed your short fiction. I think the kid should stop drawing. An interesting little twist at the end.
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I agree. Take away his reds and deep blues anyway. Give him only bright colors. Thank you for reading!
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Whoa! This is a gut-punch with a solid ending. Definitely didn’t predict that.
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Thanks for stopping by to read.
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You’re quite welcome!
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Good work. I hear my ex-lover’s car could be the condensed six word version
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True enough, and it leaves it to the reader to scratch out the ending. I like that thought. Thanks!
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Little Joey reminds me of ‘The Omen’.
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