Drabble: Sunday, Sunday, Sunday

Sunday, Sunday, Sunday

Years later, under guidance of my therapist, I’d piece together the story -- a tragic demolition derby accident, with a chunck of debris flying into the audience. At the time, all I heard was the grown-ups talking about the poor little boy who was killed by the monster truck.
Words are powerful in the four-year-old mind, espescially that “m” word. For years that imagined truck rumbled through my dreams, belching foul exhaust, headlights burning with menace. It’d already killed that little boy, and though I could never tell my parents, I knew it was coming for me next.