The Alone Time

by Elle Marr

The scissors drop, searing the air toward my sister’s flesh. Then another object rises, faster, arcing toward Daley’s head. Fiona slams a flat rock the size of my hand across his skull. Daley doesn’t make a sound as he stumbles. He looks up in time for Fiona to hit him again, and again across his face, the scissors lost. Arms flailing, clawing at my sister as she strikes him like she’s working a piece of flint. He crawls away, whimpering, while Fiona watches. Stumbling back across the meadow, Daley trips, then falls in a heap in the grass.

There’s no coming back from the Alone Time. Not for me, at least. The little girl I was who yearned for her father’s protection and comfort is buried somewhere in the Washington wilderness alongside her mother.