“Mom, the blood isn’t coming up—it’s still sticking to the wood.”
“Keep using the paper towels, dear. Just get up what you can.”
Samantha grabbed the last few pieces of paper towels and did one large swipe across the floorboards. The paper tore, forcing her to toss it into the nearby trash bag.
“We’re out of paper towels,” she announced with fright. I heard her come running to me, in the kitchen. “What do we have left to use?”
I let go of the hacksaw, feeling its sharp edge stuck in the bone of the home intruder, “Bathroom towels.”
Copyright © 2019 by Luka Tatsujo
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