Little Bobby’s mother said, “I’m going in to check on dinner. I’ll be right back out. You stay here in the driveway.”
The door closed behind her and Bobby immediately aimed his tricycle at the busy street in front of the house. He pedaled as fast as he could and giggled in glee at the rush of speed.
He launched himself out of the driveway and into the path of an oncoming car. Continue reading “Fiction: Mother’s Helper”