February 9, 2016 by Felicia Hf
She stabbed him one last time, staring into those round shocked eyes with a calm sense of relief. Dropping the knife that she had used at his feet, she left the corpse on the red bench. When she had nearly reached her house, her five-year-old son Robert bounced around the corner to greet her.
Alarmed she took him into her arms.
“Why aren’t you in the house with grandma?” she asked, trying to keep a steady voice.
He shrugged. “I wanted to go outside. Grandma didn’t.” Then he looked up at her, his face pulled into a frown, trying to make sense of his thoughts.
“Mommy, why is daddy lying on the red park bench? He looked like he was sleeping. Must’ve been a nightmare,” he added, pleased that he had recently learned what the word meant. “He looked rather frightened.”
Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers, Week of February 9th 2016