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Writer's pictureMarissa Cunningham

Corner Store

They're yelling so loud as we walk through the neighborhood corner store. I'm terrified because this woman, my momma, has cut my daddy's hand and there's so much blood coming from it. I've never seen this much blood before. She's still following him with a knife screaming and being irate. Am I running behind to catch up to him or her? I'm so small and I can't see above the aisles to figure this out. Rows and rows of snacks, canned foods, and laundry detergent meet me at eye level. Everything is moving so quickly even as the police sirens approach the building .



We are at the police station but I can't tell you how we got here. I'm not with my momma or my daddy, just a police officer. He shows me his empty hands and then pulls a quarter from behind my ear. I can't figure out how he's doing this as he repeats this trick multiple times before giving me the quarter. I'm no longer crying and they're no longer yelling. I don't know where my parents are, but this trick makes me laugh instead of cry.

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