No Picnic
Bruce Harris

She tightened her grip on the plastic knife. She wanted to kill the red ants that had taken cover under the blanket. She was spotting. Lester excused himself and entered his workshop where he took a ball-peen hammer to an egg. She'll name the baby Lester, Jr. That's a nice name, she thought, biting into the chicken. The ants swarmed.

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