Excerpt: Blood Like Honey

Blood Like Honey

My Mom taught me to fire the gun I used to make my first kill. And I was a hero for that one, I remember the people from the paper coming to interview me. The brave little girl who had shot the bad bad man. Admired, a real American heroine, spunky, sweet, poster child for the NRA, I loved it.

In retrospect, Mom probably should have suspected this wasn’t a developmental milestone and I probably shouldn’t have been as excited by the whole thing as I was. But a relieved parent is a thoughtless parent.

Afterward she told me this wasn’t the end of the spotlight for me, she just knew it. I’d be making headlines, she said. I doubt she meant the sort that read “Three Dead in Toledo Massacre” but it was a nice sentiment.