Filed Under (Microfiction) by Tansy on 26-02-2013

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“Little Devon wants to be president some day; don’t you, Devon?” Charlene nudged the boy towards Luella for her blessing, his finger pushed into his right nostril up to the second knuckle. At that moment, Bertram came down the stairs, masking tape horns stuck to his T-Ball helmet and bike streamers glued to some old shoulder pads borrowed from his brother. “Bert, what the sam hell you doin’? What’s that get-up for?” his mom, Clarice, called out. “Goin’ outside with the other kids, Mom. Gonna make sure nobody fights an’ everybody has a good time.” He was out the door with a bang and Clarice sighed. “Now, THAT,” Grandma Luella said with a chuckle, “is someone who would make a fine president.”

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