“The Six-Year-Old Serial Killer” by Chris Chan
“Mr. Funderburke, I think I may be a psychotic serial killer.”
“Mr. Funderburke, I think I may be a psychotic serial killer.”
Little scientists my ass! Left alone for a few minutes and they managed to do this.
The man sitting in my living room says to me, “I heard what you did for that other guy.”
I unload Amelia from her car seat, gather her snack and water cups, and zip them away in the diaper bag. I place her sunglasses on her face and ask, “Who’s ready for a fun day at the zoo?”
It was the start of the rainy season. Dark clouds billowed over the setting sun, leaving the air ripe with a feeling of dread.
In a moment of temporary insanity, Mommy took me shopping even though she had forgotten the entrapment device… er, I mean stroller… at home. My sister was at preschool. How hard could it be to run errands with one child?
Paul steered the deadrise boat around the shoals, keeping his distance from the shallow Chesapeake waters around the barrier island. Wouldn’t do to get stuck in the muck. Not today.
Molly wants to swing, so I pick her up and thread her legs through the vinyl harness. I shove her off, and she wheee’s, yawing to one side. It’s higher than I push her with other parents around. But we have the park to ourselves, for now.