She lined up the sights, carefully centering on her target with the trained eye of a sharp-shooter. Her body was stiff, and her hands were steady. The only noticeable movement was a drop of sweat working its way slowly down her forehead. She took a deep breath and held it. Taking one last second to check her sites, she firmly squeezed the trigger on her weapon. BOOM. Another mark down.

As the dead fly fell to the floor, Margret realized she was not alone in the kitchen. She turned to see her oldest child, with her bright blue eyes and dark brown hair, goggling at her, a combination of bewilderment and admiration apparent on her face. Margret just stared back, her orange salt gun in her right hand hanging at her side. June’s face morphed into something like disgust. “You are SOOOOOO weird, Mom,” she said with an eye roll. The teenager turned and strutted out of the room without giving her mother a chance to answer back.

“I am just bored,” Margret called after her. A cry from the baby monitor on the counter interrupted Margret as she was just about to take out her next flying pest. She sighed and started to make her way to the second floor nursery, picking up toys on her way, and walking past the door of her middle child’s room, heavy metal music blaring loudly. She thought briefly about beating on it to make him turn it down, but worried this might encourage more interaction so she moved on. She slowly turned the knob of the door her third born was screaming behind, hoping this would be fast. I have got to get a new assignment soon, before I go insane, she thought as she began to change a diaper, for the tenth time that day.

©2019 Nancy Lehmann

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