“Why does it burn?”
“You’re allergic to their poison, child.”
Mommy coated my arm with baking soda and water to temper the fierce itch of the wasp’s sting. My heart raced as we saw the skin expand before our eyes. Mommy did what she could, but nothing prepared her for the closing of my throat and bluing of my already pale skin.
“Breathe Rachel, breathe!”
I did not respond. My breathing ceased and rapid heartbeat slowed. There was no fear for me, merely resignation to my fate. Death from a simple sting upon my young flesh.
Head bent, mommy wept.
100 words (genre: general fiction)
For anyone unfamiliar with Friday Fictioneers, we write 100-word stories. Stories based on a photo prompt, posted weekly on Wednesdays, on our master site: https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/. The stories run the gamut and the authors come from all over. Stop by Rochelle’s page to find out more. I promise, you won’t be sorry.
As I state every week, please criticize the hell out of my work. Either a red pen, or riding crop will suffice.