Member-only story
Little Tigers of Gold
A Short Story
As soon as she entered the office, Serina was asked to lie down.
Is this some trick?
Sighing, she flopped on the recliner bed.
Hate you, Mom.
“Okay, all aboard. Let’s go!” announced Dr. Preethi like a pretend pilot. She was a middle-aged Indian woman with wild black curls, and a soft yet stern look that spelt business.
Serina gulped.
“So, what changed your mind to come over?”
Sinking into the fluffy bed, Serina searched her memory.
Best be straight.
Licking her lips, Serina grumbled, “My mother.”
Dr. Preethi twirled her finger rings. “And how do you feel about it?”
Serina rolled her eyes.
You can’t help me, lady. Now, how do I get my hands on that thing and get the hell out of here?
A week ago, Serina’s mother had dragged her to Dr. Preethi’s office. Over tea and banana chips, she’d rambled about Serina’s ‘escalating problems’ while the therapist gave astute nods.
Rolling her eyes at the women — much like she was doing now — Serina had noticed a figurine on the beach-wood desk: a golden tiger. It was tiny — the height of an ordinary…
