Cynthia sat on the cool concrete porch that was nestled between two shrubs that lined the front of her house. She leaned so that her elbows sat on her knees and then she rested her chin on her hands with a huff. She was bored.

Her eyes wandered over to her faded hopscotch squares that she had crudely etched onto the cracked driveway with blue and pink chalk two days ago. Just next to it, laid her jump-rope with its frayed ends that stuck out beyond its faded splintered plastic handles. She had hopped, skipped, and jumped to exhaustion over the past two days and she was sick of it.

She sighed and scanned the yard. Her pink bicycle with its tiny white training wheels lay on its side. Its shimmering tassels hung from the ends of its handlebars, blowing like fine hair in the gentle mid-summer breeze.

A tire swing hung listlessly in the old oak tree on the edge of the property. She had already tried to swing in it earlier, but it was filled with old rainwater and dead bugs. Cynthia hated bugs, even old dead ones.

She sat up straight and sighed again. Maybe there are some cartoons on, she hoped, maybe even Scooby! She pushed herself off the porch when heard a noisy engine from down the street that caught her interest.

Her daddy had told her sometime before that it was “that idiotic McKenzie boy trying to impress the Wiggins girl,” whatever that meant. His car was really loud and he liked to screech the tires when he went through the stop signs.

The roaring engine grew closer and louder. The noise hurt Cynthia’s ears. She saw his car as it came into view. It was a bright green color with orange stripes and small black tires that had silver spokes in their centers. It was ugly, she thought. Actually her daddy was the one who said that it was ugly, and that was good enough for her.

Cynthia held her ears as the car drew nearer. It was going very fast, much faster than the normal cars that drove past. She narrowed her eyes and angrily hoped that a tire would blow out. That might show “that idiot McKenzie boy,” as her daddy would call him.

Just then there was a loud explosion.

The car lunged forward. The remaining tires screeched loudly. The back end of the car slid sideways and then the car rolled. It rolled over and over until it hit the old oak tree. An explosion of glass showered into the yard. Finally the car lay still, and so did its driver.

The car had hit so hard that some of the water was shaken from the tire swing. Afterward it twisted rocked back and forth slowly like and oscillating pendulum. Cynthia wondered how many dead bugs might have been thrown from it. It might be fit for swinging now.

Cynthia’s mommy came running from out of the house. She screamed, “Oh my God!” and snatched Cynthia from the porch. She brought Cynthia back inside the house and distracted her with cartoons, Scooby in fact!

Sirens in the distance prompted several neighborhood dogs to howl. Cynthia always found that to be funny. Why did they howl? she wondered. Do they want to be ambulances too? Silly doggies.

Cynthia’s mommy dialed a number and ducked into the kitchen where Cynthia could not hear her.

“Howard,” she said with a shaky voice, “Cynthia’s done it again.”

“What? Who was it this time?” he asked incredulously.

“It was Derrick McKenzie. I didn’t see him, but I don’t think he’s in very good shape. It was a pretty bad mess.” She covered her mouth as if to hold back the rising sensation of nausea.

After a pause, Howard answered, “Okay, I’ll be right there.”

Howard hung up the phone and smiled warmly at the glass-framed picture of his little girl that sat prominently on his desk.

Who knew that she would be bestowed with such amazing telekinetic powers? With her youthful ignorance, he only has to load and point the gun and she inadvertently pulls the trigger. She does so every single time without fail. And now that the McKenzie boy has been taken care of, there might be a decent night’s sleep ahead.

Howard grabbed the keys out of his desk drawer and cheerfully thought of her future potential.

"Daddy's Girl"
Copyright: © 2010 Brian Barnett
Brian Barnett lives with his wife, Stephanie, and son, Michael, in Frankfort, Kentucky.

To date, he has published over fifty stories since he began publishing in November 2008. He has been accepted by over twenty-five publications, online and in print, including four anthologies.

He was co-editor of the anthology “Toe Tags: 21 Spine-Tingling Tales from the Best New Authors of Horror” with William Pauley III.

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  1. Very cool. Daddy's own little Weapon of Mass Destruction.

  2. This is cool! Just think of all the noisy neighbors he could get rid of...