The Time My Mom Accidentally Shut My Hand in the Car Door: A Very Short Story.
The scenery - green, blue, punctuated by silos, farmhouses, power wires - kept slipping by. I was screaming. Mother screamed.
"What's wrong?"
"Howl," I said. "Shriek."
The salt storage pyramid, the Water Bowl sign, the green road signs. Her mind was wherever minds go.
"Howl," I said again.
I thought the problem was obvious.
"Howl," I said.
We reached our destination. Mother opened her door and strode around the front part of the '77 Sunbird. She reached for the handle of the passenger door and opened it hastily.
"Howl," I said.
"Howl," she said. "Shriek."
The scenery - green, blue, punctuated by silos, farmhouses, power wires - kept slipping by. I was screaming. Mother screamed.
"What's wrong?"
"Howl," I said. "Shriek."
The salt storage pyramid, the Water Bowl sign, the green road signs. Her mind was wherever minds go.
"Howl," I said again.
I thought the problem was obvious.
"Howl," I said.
We reached our destination. Mother opened her door and strode around the front part of the '77 Sunbird. She reached for the handle of the passenger door and opened it hastily.
"Howl," I said.
"Howl," she said. "Shriek."