Inspired by a 3 word prompt: dragonfly, adorn, sharp.

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To say that Susie Adkins had a thing for dragonflies would surely be an understatement. No. This was a full-blown obsession. She had a dragonfly tattoo on her ankle, a charm bracelet that jingled every time she moved, earrings that dangled like insect chandeliers, and a bedroom completely adorned with the tiny winged creatures. It could have undoubtedly passed for the set of a Lord of the Dragonflies film.

So when the UPS guy left a long cardboard box at her door, Susie could hardly contain her excitement. “It’s here!” she shouted to absolutely no one, because her husband, Greg, was at work doing “grown-up stuff” like contributing to society. Not Susie. She was three Jack and Cokes deep and living her best life. #NoRegrets!

The box was labeled DRAGONFLY BEDFRAME in bold black letters, as if it knew it was the star of her delusional fantasy. She should have waited for Greg, since she couldn’t assemble a peanut butter sandwich without supervision. But waiting required patience, and patience was a virtue that Susie Adkins simply did not possess.

She dragged the box inside, cracked it open, and dumped out the parts like a meth head scavenging through a tool shed. Screws, wooden slats, bolts, and a bag of nails that she haphazardly tossed onto the floor like wedding confetti.

Just as she was about to go full Bob the Builder, she remembered the Jack and Coke she’d so carelessly abandoned in the kitchen. Priorities. She stood up, swaying slightly, humming the tune to Bad to the Bone for no real reason, and took two steps before screaming, “FUCK! FUCK! FUUUCK!”

One of those charming little nails had decided to lodge itself into the arch of her foot like it was hanging on for dear life.

Susie crumpled to the ground, clutching her foot and cursing like a pirate with a stubbed toe. Or perhaps a sharp ass fucking nail in his foot. Blood painted a tragic little trail as she crawled toward the kitchen, swearing vengeance against Amazon and all that it stood for.

Right then, a car door slammed outside. She froze. Beep-beep.

“Oh, great,” she muttered under her breath, still dragging her legs behind her through the hallway.

Greg walked in moments later, briefcase in one hand, forehead crumpling in confusion as he took in the bloody chaos. Tools everywhere. A nail sticking out of Susie’s foot. The unmistakable scent of Jack Daniels in the air like cheap perfume.

He turned to her, brows knitted. “What the hell happened here?”

She blinked up at him drunkenly, her dragonfly earrings still swaying. “What can I say?” she slurred, wincing in pain. “I’m no handyman.”