“Smile,” my mother whispers, and I force my lips wider. A ghastly grin that stretches my face too wide. It can’t possibly look appealing, but I can hear the thud of his footsteps and I lean up on my tip-toes, puffing my crest up to its very highest.

My father is coming.

First place winner of iron author 2024 (second year running, yo). Prompts were Smile, Weasel, Gubernatorial. Written in two hours.