Flash Fiction

Step-mother

Max met her gaze. She stared; bored down into him like a vulture would to its prey. His heart sputtered into life and began to beat out of his chest. But nonetheless he stared back, eyes bleeding defiance, not this time he thought, not today.

It was a moment like this a few years ago when Max first met her; his stepmother. She had moved into house and rearranged the furniture, perforated the unmistakable stench of perfume, tamed an unrestricted garden –one of the last of its kind- and domesticated an otherwise free ‘Max.’ For the most part she was successful in all those efforts except the last one.

To her max was just another variable and he was one that needed to be controlled so she could effectively satisfy her aim.
As she raised her hand he reached into his pocket and pulled out a signed note.

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