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This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book “Sprung from Grief” Down in the Dirt, v184 (the June 2021 Issue) Order the paperback book:

Order this writing that appears in the one-of-a-kind anthology Lockdown’s Over the Down in the Dirt May-August 2021 issues collection book		get the 420 page May-August 2021 Down in the Dirt 6" x 9" ISBN# perfect-bound paperback book:

Bored, Bored, Bored

David Sapp

    Bored, bored, bored, just kids left to ourselves in the dog days of summer, no school, friends or camping, my sister and I fought more than siblings typically do, fierce skirmishes along our borders. Our mother, usually asleep, deep in her darkened bedroom, we escalated as if to plead for her intervention, a small measure, any indication of a diplomatic solution, détente, a treaty, a DMZ, a cease fire at the very least. I locked my sister out of the house, running ahead to each door. Click, click, click. (I don’t recall our conflict: likely a hierarchy of power, the division of labor.) Enraged, thwarted at the last possibility, she thrust her bare, little foot through the glass. I caught the largest shard, a piece nearly as tall as she, with my bare hands – heroically (This is highly questionable.) saving her from more serious injury, from a certain slice across her belly, calf or thigh. Our mother, now conscious, now hysterical, staunched my sister’s cuts and rushed her bleeding to the bathtub. Never mind my wounds (We both could have used some stitches.) my sister and I were temporarily satisfied. Our alliance worked. Our mother was awake.

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