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Fruit of the Womb

JOANNE BEALY

Honourable mention in the 3rd Annual Geist Literal Literary Postcard Story Contest.

Oh for Christ’s sake. I turn my back for a minute. A god damned minute and they’ve set the bloody tree on fire. And of course it’s Jamie. Look at him. Bold as day. Can’t even bother ditching the gas can. Doesn’t give a rat’s ass who sees him, who doesn’t. Struts around like a cock in a coop of hens. From the day he was born, he was like that. The other two just along for the ride.

At least Elizabeth has the decency to turn around and see if I’ve noticed. And ain’t that always the way. Bo and Jamie just go about their god damned business, like they got every right to, like everything they come across was put there for them to piss on. Just like their no-good loser father.

I should send them to live with him. Ha ha. That’s funny. I’m cracking myself up. If I knew where the son of a bitch was, they’d be gone. They sure as hell would. Get myself a little break. Not Lizzie though. Look at her. Knows she’s mixed up in something bad and feeling guilty about it already. Can’t help herself. I almost wish it was her set the tree on fire. I swear I do.

I can’t take much more though. I really can’t. I should walk out right now. Go see a movie or something. Let the damn thing burn to the ground.

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JOANNE BEALY

Joanne Bealy is the author of At the Mercy of Gravity, a book of poems, and her essays have appeared most recently in Cahoots and Bright Lights Film Journal. “Fruit of the Womb” received an honourable mention in the 3rd Annual Geist Literal Literary Postcard Story Contest.


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