“Monica! Lunch!”

I ran up the hill to the house with my empty bucket, not looking back. I didn’t want to see a silver arm rise from the pond. My mother was outside watering the tomatoes. Seeing my muddy feet, she screamed.

“You went near the water?” She slapped at me. “You know what can happen!” She grabbed my wrist and pulled me onto the rubber doormat, spraying my feet to clean them.

“It was just the edge; it’s muddy! I didn’t go too close; I swear, mama!”

“Dry your feet and go upstairs — I made you a tuna…

Claudia Brooke

Make, write, paint, play music, read, eat, sleep, repeat.

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