A Mrs. Bond Speaks Her Mind
Don’t pretend this isn’t dangerous and don’t give me that “fighting the forces of evil” shit. You are far from noble and you don’t wear a cape. You’re just an adrenaline junkie. I should have seen that from the get-go. I should have known that having two babies was not going to turn you responsible. My bad, but they’re your sons and they’re here now. If you relegate them below the so-called greater good in your world order, I will rip your heart out.
How would I even know if you’re dead? Will the Men in Black come to the door? They damn well better have a suitcase full of cash. And they can feel free to erase every memory I have of you. It would be a kindness. I bet your family isn’t even dead but are living the American dream somewhere in Ohio. Don’t think I won’t track them down and make them pay for the kids’ college.
And by the way, I’m signing up for HBO and Showtime and Starz and every other bloody channel that exists. If I’m stuck here while you’re off saving civilization, I’m going to have options. And I’m taking over the entire bedroom closet. You can use the one in the hallway. And I’m going gluten-free so forget all your junk food – it’s in the compost, no doubt creating glowing Franken-worms as we speak.
No, I’m not done. If you’re going to continue this charade, you’re going to double the life insurance policy. I can just see the government denying all knowledge of you if you’re wacked in some covert operation. You’re not getting a funeral if there’s no body. That’s non-negotiable.
Mercedes Lawry has published short fiction in several journals including, Gravel, Cleaver, Garbanzo, and Blotterature and was a semi-finalist in The Best Small Fictions 2016. She's published poetry in journals such as Poetry, Nimrod & Amp; Prarie Schooner and has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize three times. Additionally, she's published stories and poems for children. She lives in Seattle.