One Shot

Only one shot was fired. The body dropped to the floor with a thud. Timmy held the gun in trembling hands. The monster, he called father, would hurt him no more.

The gun's recoil had sent Timmy skidding across the floor, on his bottom. He could feel the cold metal of the stove against his back.

Timmy's mother lay crumpled in the corner, blood dripping from the corner of her mouth.

Blood seeped from her husband's body. She watched the red liquid, with fascination, as it pooled on the linoleum floor.

The heavy metal weapon fell from Timmy's hand with a clank.

His mother looked up, and opened her arms wide. Timmy slowly crawled to her. Her arms encircled him, as great sobs heaved from his tiny chest.

They began to rock; back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.