Flash: Sixteen years

Photo by AllGo – An App For Plus Size People on Unsplash

Adam held up the wall, waiting, concerned. Beyond concerned, but not wanting to appear so. His child was on the other side of the door in this industrial nightmare, and all he could do is watch through the little window.

Sixteen years.

The world is fucked up when you only get sixteen years. Maybe Danielle wouldn’t test positive, but Adam knew in his heart-of-hearts she was already displaying all the signs of the Change. If he had money, any money, he would have bribed their way across the southern border. Mexico didn’t kill their Changed.

Not like the Free States of America.

His dark-haired princess looked over her shoulder at him while the officials waited for the test results. Only he could tell they weren’t waiting. They already had the results and were getting the shot ready. That wasn’t random fiddling.

He took his hand out of his pocket to flash “I love you” in sign language. It had been their signal of just him and her against the world for years. She flashed him a smile and the same hand symbol in return, two center fingers down against the palm, two fingers on the outer edges up and thumb out.

The doctor said something to the observing school official, a needle in the hand. Danielle turned back to what was happening in there.

(words 224, first published 4/25/2023 – from a picture prompt for a Facebook writing group. Aim is about 50 words)

By a Landslide Series
Sixteen years (10/11/2020)
Oopsie (11/8/2020)