Flash fiction. 100 words. No repeats.
I traced a figure eight on Catherine’s forehead. Sweet daughter, hands crossed over her chest, unmoving; she was more precious than ever before, pale skin glowing under faint moonlight. Death makes masterpieces of us all. Frail child, even in infancy, how did anyone fail you so?
Nodding off is never harmless. One brief second’s blackout, then jerking back to reality, hearing shrill screaming as headlights roared forward. Cutting the wheel accomplished nothing.
Lids flutter open, revealing blue eyes, stretched wide with surprise. Time for making amends. My rotten index finger pressed against chapped lips, dead voice whispering, “Daddy’s here. Forever.”