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Having Driven Through, I Don't Blame Her -- FWG Flash Fiction for 2/18/2023

Inspired by the long drive I took to Colorado this month and this picture





Having Driven Through, I Don't Blame Her



The rescue crew had to prop the door open. The wind had not only blown out all of its windows, it had even pulled one of the hinges right out of the frame. The plaster walls were cracked as if the whole house had been dropped from a height. The little girl they found inside insisted she had been airborne, but the place still rested on its foundation—although a bit askew.


They found Little Dottie in one of the bedrooms, screaming her head off. The curses she spat at the first responders shouldn’t have even been known by a girl her age. Most of what she said was pretty incoherent. Giant flowers of all colors, a whole town of not-very-helpful people no bigger than herself, a murder, and flying monsters trying to capture her and her yappy little dog.


When she started crying about the creepy creatures she met during the storm, the paramedics exchanged knowing glances. One of them started digging through his kit while the other bandaged Dottie’s bleeding head. Clearly suffering from head trauma, they barely paid attention as she tried talking to her robot toy, a plush cat, and a straw-stuffed doll. When she threw the water they offered her onto a Halloween decoration with a pointy hat, the lead paramedic nodded to the other one, who held up the prepared syringe.


The girl’s mangy mutt tried to bite the med tech’s arm until they locked it in the closet. One of them had to hold her down while the other struggled to find a vein. Despite her struggles, found a target in her arm standing proud. The needle sank in deep.


As Dorothy’s eyes fluttered closed, she let out one last, desperate scream, “But I don’t want to be in Kansas, anymore!”

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