Worse Than Getting Shot

When the police car stops in front of Mrs. P’s house, Dad’s words begin to make sense.

‘Don’t get shot,’ I tell him every day. Today, he replied with a grimace, ‘I gotta feeling it’s gonna be one of those days when getting shot’d be less painful.’

Mrs. P opens the door. The landlord’s all aggressive, insists on his rights.

‘Pat, Mickey,’ Mrs. P pleads. ‘You spent half your childhoods in my kitchen, devouring cookies and milk. Now your kids do.’

Dad and Mickey stand there, shoulders slumping.

I can’t watch. But first, I make sure Dad knows I saw.

7 thoughts on “Worse Than Getting Shot

  1. Poor old Mrs P. The voice is good- they have a straight forward way of saying things, a slightly simpler vocab that sounds naive. I think you did really well in the word count. I might like to hear what happened next to Mrs P, though…

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    1. Thank you, Lynn! Twelve’s a tricky age, I wasn’t quite sure I got it right. And to be honest, I don’t think it ends well for Mrs. P…

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      1. Tricky indeed- not really children, not really adults. My son’s eleven and he regularly surprises me with how adult he can sound at times… then he’ll make a fart joke and I remember how very young he is 🙂 You did a good job, though- just right, I thought.


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