Threes


Good things come in threes
, he says. I’m reading both obituaries instead of getting dressed, thinking one-two. Two surviving children, it says: that’s us.

“Come on,” Father’s look on his face. “We’ll be late.” He doesn’t see my hand until I pull the trigger.

“Three,” I tell him, and smile.


Linking this to the Fiction Challenge ‘From 15 to 50? - prompt “three in a row”.  Word count: 50, and holy mother of Pete that was hard to trim down and have it still make sense.


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