Eye for Eye

Sitting in the parking lot watching as customers entered and exited the busy grocery store he noticed a white Honda Odyssey park a few stalls down. The driver, a female in her late twenties placed a young girl into the seat of a grocery cart and struggled with getting a boy, a little older, out of the van. The man smiled. I wonder if it’s going to be them. They would be perfect. “Come on,” the mother said to her ten-year-old son. “We just need to grab a few things.” Her son grumbled not looking up from his phone. “I could really use your help,” she said in a pleading tone. “Okay, okay,” he, said. “I’m coming.” The mother pushed the grocery cart with her daughter, age four, in the child seat. She looked back and saw him playing on his phone as he walked behind her. His father should never have gotten that damned cell phone, she thought in frustration. They entered the grocery store and rushing down the aisle, the mother read off the grocery list. “Grab two gallons of milk, we need eggs . . .” “How many?” “Get the bigger one.” He dropped the egg carton into the cart none too gently. “Watch it, those might break if you’re not careful,” his mother complained. The boy rolled his eyes. “And a loaf of bread . . .” As the boy grabbed the bread off the shelf the explosive device inside the loaf exploded killing him instantly. The force of the blast sent his mother flying backward like a rag doll slamming her into the shelves on the opposite side of the isle. As the acrid smoke settled, the last thing she saw was her daughter sitting very still in the grocery cart with her head tilted to one side, with a blank stare on her face and blood seeping from her ear.