My granddaughter got mad at me for yanking her arm. Granted, she was about to put her hand on a cast iron stove, but still.

It’s upsetting when they look at you like you’re a monster who hurt them.

Especially when you know there’s no choice.

It was that or a trip to the hospital for a severe burn.

She got over it, luckily, but man. It’s like a dagger to the heart; makes you feel straight rotten.

But still, the alternative. Hurt feelings that go away in twenty minutes or a first-degree burn?

I would make the same choice, and suffer the same pain.

Target: 500 words
Written: 242 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell (I appreciate juvenile humour sometimes, but I just can't get on board with the constant insults; making fun of ourselves is fine; pointing out our foibles is fine; I appreciate the liberal sensibility toward sex and all... I just can't do anything but be appalled and disappointed at the constant putdowns of people for generalities that only demonstrates one's insecure ego and lack of knowledge or empathy about the people around oneself.  I can't reward that).
Comics: East Of West 20-23
Music: KooKoo, Debbie Harry