“We shouldn’t do this.”
Laura pulled the ax out of her backpack.
“Stop! It’ll hurt the tree!”
Laura directed a querying finger at the wormy stump before planting her feet and lifting the tool.
Monique stepped closer.
“Don’t be daft,” Laura sighed. But she did lower her arms and gave her little sister a long look.
Monique’s eyes glittered. The gal was going to cry. Over a tree stump.
Then again, she’d bawled over a crushed ant and pouted for a week after Laura ate the goose’s egg.
“The bark will compost.” Laura tried. “And … we need fire wood.”
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
Photo: © Sandra Crook