Daddy drove our shabby SUV to the beach to watch. “Thar she blows” daddy shouted as the rocket’s parabola flared towards space. Mom’s eyes echoed its arc, rolling in unhappy symmetry.
Later we sang Major Tom and hoovered hot, ketchupy fries into our bird beaks, until mom’s short fuse detonated. We cooled our mouths with hot sundaes, while daddy cried hot tears.
New-daddy smelled like Mercedes Benz; newly-minted mom had a mean mouth and tight face. We cast off old-daddy like rocket boosters, moving on while he floundered into the gutter. Beer-glass weighted pockets dragging him towards the ocean floor.
This story won First Prize in the April Monthly Micro Competition.
About the author: Maria Thomas is a middle-aged, apple-shaped mum of two from London. During daylight hours she works in technical control in financial services, a subject so mind-numbingly dull that she spends the witching hours writing. She has had work published by EllipsisZine, Funny Pearls, The Levatio and (upcoming) Fiery Scribe Review