Mother Chased

I was this close to passing out. Pins and needles pricked my side like tiny knives, and my lungs burned from the marathon I'd unwillingly signed up for. Yet, my mother was still in hot pursuit, wielding her slipper like it was Excalibur.

Why is she so fit in her old age? She wasn't even breaking a sweat. Maybe it's a farm-life superpower. Raising four unruly kids and managing livestock must've been her secret training regimen. Either way, I was outclassed.

And out of time.

"Stop running, you little brat!" she barked, her voice carrying that trademark mix of annoyance and amusement.