My Tornado of Death

Her outstretched hands, 10 perfect fingers, each 5 attached to their rightful palm. Pillows of toddler pudge held the paper up to me. She stretched every fiber in her little being, willing her gift closer towards me.

It’s for you. I drew it for you.

She proudly announced.

Take it!

Her request was layered with the beginnings of exasperation. She shook her gift in front of me.

I thanked her as I took the paper from her hands. Another art piece to obligatorily display on the refrigerator. An…