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drabble | #282 poison
Four year old Bobby sat in the kitchen of his family home. His older sister worked on her homework near by and his very pregnant mother was at the stove preparing supper for the family. Bobby stared at his yellow sippy cup hard. His sister made fun of it. “You’re not a baby anymore Bobby. You shouldn’t drink out of a sippy cup. It’s stupid.” He stuck his tongue out at her. He’d drink out of a sippy cup if he wanted and his fingers curled tighter around the side handles. “Mummy. What if I put poison in my cup?” He wondered aloud. Ashley rolled her eyes and their mother turned with a brow furrowed to look at her middle child. “Why would you do that, Bobby?” The little ginger boy shrugged and took a sip of his drink. “I dunno. Just cause.” An all too familiar evil grin spread across his face slowly and he dropped his sippy cup (TAKE THAT ASHLEY, IT DIDN’T SPILL ANYWHERE BECAUSE IT’S A SIPPY CUP) as his hands went flying to his neck clutching as he pretended to suffocate. His little body weaved from side to side like he’d seen on the telly as he stumbled out of the chair. He hit the ground with a thud and began to roll side to side, wriggling as if his insides were turning themselves inside out from the effects of this dastardly poison he’d injested in his grape juice. “Help! Mummy! Asher!” He croaked, reaching out with a weak hand to them. “Save me. I’ve been…” He gulped. “Poisoned!!” And then his body lay limp on the ground. “Dead”.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe I’m related to you.” Ashley seemed unimpressed.

“My dear boy!” Their mother cried, rushing to his side and awkwardly settling on her knees next to him. She curled his body into hers as she held him and ran a hand over his ginger hair. “Oh, my son. Please don’t die. Pretty please.” She begged of him and inside Bobby was smiling. He moaned softly and his mother gasped. “He’s alive!!” His eyes opened slowly as if coming out of a deep slumber. “He’s alive!!” She repeated with equal excitement as before. “Oh, my sweet Bobby, I’m so glad you’re alive.”

“Mum?” He croaked groggily before reaching up to touch her cheek with a small hand. “Is that you Mummy?”

She nodded, wishing she could will tears down her face to further make the boy believe she believed him, but she couldn’t. Instead she continued the charade throughout dinner, integrating his father, as her eldest rolled her blue eyes. Imagination was important and her Bobby had that in spades.