Potluck Passion

Do Not Go Gently...

As promised, I took the prose challenge for the weekend...now I rememebr why I don't write fiction.  Thanks, Jo!

Thunderstorms frightened her, but tonight the blasting thunder added to her fury.  She stomped around the kitchen, stopping long enough to rapidly click her fake black fingernails against the countertop.  One evil eye from me and the clicking stopped, replaced by howls harmonizing with the wind.

“I hate it here!  Hate, hate, hate…”

“Go read a book,” I said.

“Go read a book, go read a book, that’s your answer for everything!”

“Works for me.”

“Well, I’m not you!”  Kiera threw herself in a kitchen chair.  Another evil eye from me and the tears started.  “He’s a good driver, Mom.  I promise we’ll be home after the movie and I’ll wear my seat belt and I’ll call you when we get there.”

 Here we go again, I thought, as the sky illuminated.  One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississi....

Thunder rattled the windows.  Kiera pulled her knees up to her chest and covered her ears.  Black fingernails disappeared into her even blacker hair. 

I lit a couple of candles and checked the flashlight’s batteries.  Be prepared, the Girl Scout in me reminded.  I set the flashlight in front of Kiera.

“What part of you’re not going don’t you understand?”

“Uugghhh.”  Kiera picked up the flashlight and hurled it across the kitchen.  Her black Skechers™ with the glittery silver skulls followed.  “I hate you!”

I waited until I heard her bedroom door slam, then picked up the flashlight and shoes, setting the latter by the unlocked front door.  I carried the flashlight with me to bed, leaving the porch light on and the candles burning.