Wendy J Stein

The Patron Saint of Fire

The wind and hail is blowing fiercely through the broken passenger door window, hitting Katie in the face in biting stings as she drives. She makes a hard right through the open gate, almost missing the turn as the brakes squeal and mud splatters up from the tires. She wipes her eyes, a combination of tears, dirt, and blood. It smears her cheeks in a dark crimson that glows, a break in the clouds sending the sun through the front windshield. The bullet is lodged in her right arm. She will remove it when they arrive at the house.