The sculpture tumbled to the wooden floor. One leg snapped at the knee and pinged against the skirting board. The neck severed and the horse’s head flew across the hallway to land at his mother’s feet.

He heard her tut and saw the slight shake of her head, reminiscent of every time she caught him doing something wrong when he was a kid.

He was surprised the wreckage wasn’t worse. Only three pieces and the breaks were clean enough that it would be easy to fix.

Too easy.

He raised his booted foot, looked directly into his mothers eyes and stamped hard on the horse’s torso.

The sound of breaking was muffled but the outcome was much more satisfying. The main body of the horse had splintered into pieces, each no larger than his thumb.

For a moment his mother didn’t move.

Then she raised her own foot, smiled and stamped down on the horses head.

“That’ll teach the bastard. Now let’s cut up your father’s clothes.”

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