Children’s Games

“Shhh!” she giggled. “It’s what he wants. Can’t you see that? He *wants* this.” “I don’t know, Mary. He’s turning purple. Can’t we go now?” “Shut up, you stupid weak baby!” She let go of the boy’s thoat, watched him gasping for air and sobbing. “Nora, I want you to find a rope. I think Casey wants to learn how to fly.” “Mary this is wrong!” Nora shouted. Mary’s eyes turned a sky blue. Her smile was cruel, full of intellegence all too experienced for an 11 year old.

Mary watched her friend Nora flee the scene. The little boy she’d been choking was afraid to move. She marched up to him. “Well since Nora is being a sissy girl you’re gonna have to wait til tomarrow to fly. Now go home!” He scrambled to his feet and ran so fast he kept tripping. “Run little toy,” she called after him. “Or I’ll come get you!!”
At the dinner table Mary announced to no one in particular; “I think Casey is getting a cold or something. We were playing with him today and his lips turned blue.” Her mother, stoned on drugs ignored her. “Why would they be blue?” she answered anyway, rather raspy. “Because”, Mary said pausing. “He was being bad.”

The next day the town was abuzz. News ancors nervously sited that three year old Casey Pratt was dead. They annouced it may have been an accident but that police were looking into it. Mary passed by the t.v. and smiled. While Nora poured pretend tea into small cups Mary paced the grass. “Now Nora, if you are asked anything, you don’t say a damn word, you hear?” Nora stopped what she was doing. “What happened to him,” she asked. Mary smiled to herself. “Oh, I saw a bunch of men walking near the house yesterday when we were playing. I think they killed him.” Nora nodded.
“Let’s go see how Ms. Pratt is doing,” Mary said. The children walked up to the house and knocked on the door. A distraught woman in her 30’s answered. “Can Casey come play?” Mary asked so sweetly. “No, child,” the woman replied. “He’s dead.” “Oh,” Mary said smiling. Ms. Pratt looked at Mary and Nora, both smiling. And slammed the door in their faces.

By the bridge the two girls played with Bessie, a neighbor of theirs. Bessie was six years old. “I dare you to walk across the way, ” Mary announced to Bessie. “Won’t I fall into the waterfall?” Bessie nervously asked. “Only if you aren’t careful. Now go. You have 5 min. to make it across.” Bessie stood on top of the stone and gazed. The length of the bridge was roughly 15 feet. She carefully stepped down on the stones lining the bridge. They were green with algae. “Five min. Bess!” Mary shouted. Cautiously Bessie tip toed from one rock to the next. Mary and Nora ignored her and began making flower wreaths. Soon they got bored altogether and went back home.
Suddenly frantic knocking on the door. Nora and Mary looked up. Nora’s mother answered the door. “Have you seen Bessie?” she sobbed. “I can’t find her!” “We were playing near the water today,” Nora replied. “But Bessie said she was sick and was going home.” So the woman left.

Search parties went out and searched for a week before they found Bessie’s body. Police confirmed that she had drown.
A knock sounded on the door as a woman answered. “Is Bessie here?” Nora asked. The woman broke down into sobbs. “She drowned”. “Oh,” was Mary’s response. “Maybe she shouldn’t have walked across the stones.” And the two girls walked away.

By RoseTears

I am sleeping in a pool of blood Don't act like you don't kill me with your words Writing, sleeping, dreaming, singing, ...just ask.