Broadside

She marched down the steps and wheeled around the corner of the stairwell, intent on settling this argument in this very moment. She imagined she would find her nemesis hunched over the table in her lair, occupying her tiny mind with some insignificant task, seemingly oblivious to the havoc she was meanwhile wreaking across the universe. She made her way angrily down the hall, ready to hurl fire and sling insults, and careened into the cave where the enemy awaited.

But there she was, the enemy–her mother–seated, busily at work on something that looked rather significant; and when she heard the heavily-laid footsteps, the mother raised her head and, upon seeing the angry little girl, smiled. The footsteps paused, reversed (the silent broadside tucked away), and the girl retreated, appeased.

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