Pruning By Percussion

“It’s an infestation.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“It ate your son.”

Lara knew that Terrence was right, the rose bush had to go. Terrence wasn’t particularly skilled in the area of botanicals but he had a shotgun. Something in Lara told her that Terrence wasn’t quite right. Something bigger and lazier, told her that the neighborhood watch might just confuse it with a backfire.

“You know I could have sworn Eric was with his father this week.”

“That’s just what it wants you to believe.”

“Maybe I should trust it.”

“No, if you fall pray to the rosebush’s charm it will just keep eating until it has your precious eyes down it’s stomach.”

“They don’t actually have stomachs.”

“How would you know?”

“I’ve looked.”

There was a shotgun and there was Terrence with sad puppy dog eyes.

“Look if you really want to do this, go ahead.”

He ran outside and prepared to do battle, .410 in hands and all the world on his crazy crazy shoulders. Lara watched that boy of hers shoot a bush, because it was mean. She slowly drank her third orange juice suicide. This one had a slo gin and a double brandy. She knew that one day soon she would have to break up with him. Having an alcohol habit is problematic, having a shooting habit is just not socially acceptable.

As she stared into the dying shrub, she wondered if this had anything to do with losing custody. Terrence screamed a rebel’s yell as he went in for the coup de grace. Lara was looking fondly at the scotch, wondering what it tastes like with orange juice.