Catsup

She never knew it could be as bad as it was. Tears streamed down her face. She reached over for a tissue to blow her red, wet nose.

Onions, oh how she hated onions. Every time she cut them her eyes watered worse than Nigeria falls. Today, however, was the worst than has been for as long as she can remember. Her eyelids acted like a dam, holding back the tears and distorting her sight. She still continued cutting after blowing her nose.

Six were complete; six others were still waiting for the blade to pierce their seemingly endless layers. She slowly made her way through this daunting task. After what seemed like her entire life she was down to only one. She started making haste. Chunks of the vegetable flew everywhere. Chop, chop, chop. The knife slipped and found its way into her wrist.

Blood flowed from her wound. The pain was intense. The entire kitchen room seemed to spin as if in a cyclone. She collapsed to the red, slippery floor. The phone lay on a counter across to room.

She began inching her way to the phone with her remaining energy. She could feel her soul slipping from her grasps.



He lost. Those two dreaded words flashed across the screen at him, "Game over." He threw the controller at the wall. A loosely fitted self with several fragile items toppled to the floor. Everything shattered to pieces. The little boy eyed the disaster he had caused. His feelings went from a childish rage to full-fledged sorrow. "Mommy!" he cried out as tears streamed down his chubby face.

He bolted down the steppes as fast as his little legs would carry him. He made his way to kitchen where he knew his mother would be. She became visible. "Mommy!" he screamed once again through his curled lips, "my stuff broked!"

She tuned her head toward her son reviling her whitening face. What was she going to do? Blood was gushing from her flesh and she was dying as her son watched. She had to do something. Her son could not witness this and become traumatized. She thought. Finally she had an idea, an awfully fateful idea. She said with a raspy voice, "I'll be up there in a minute, I just need to finish cleaning up this catsup."

Hearing the "C word" stopped the child's mindless crying and caused him to just stare at the red mess. His wet tongue slithered around his lips. Catsup, his favorite thing in the world. "Can I have some?" he questioned.

"Sure, Raymond," she replied absent-mindedly and not realizing what he had requested. Her arms gave away causing her to crash to the ground. Her eyelids slid ever eyes. Her heart stopped beating.

Ray got onto his hands and knees, bent his head down and began lapping up the blood like a dog. It tasted strange to him. It did not taste like the catsup that he was used to; it was much better. He continued devouring this delightful treat. The floor was becoming cleaner with every mouthful. He could not spare a single drop. Never before in his life had he experienced anything so precious.



The floor was now spotless. Ray, however, was not satisfied. He craved for more. He looked up to see his mother. He crawled over to her, placed his hands upon her and started shaking her vigorously. "Mommy, mommy you can't sleep on the ground. Wake up," he commanded his mother.

She remained motionless.

He made another attempt, still without succeeding. He used all his power to turn her onto her back. He noticed large amounts of red among her flesh. He tried to eat it but it was already coagulated.

Another shot at wakening up Mommy was taken. It ended up like all the others. After this he gave up and decided to let her sleep where she was. His hand swung at a fly that wanted to make its way into her nose.

He got to his feet and made his way back to his room. After a few minutes he reached it. His bear feet shuffled across the floor. The shards of shattered glass and pottery still remained on the there. Being a little to young to realize the potential danger of such items, he stepped right on them. His little mouth howled out an ear-splitting scream. He toppled onto the hard, uncomfortable floor.

His small, petite hands lunged for his victimized foot. A few drops of crimson liquid trickled from it. He pulled it to his mouth and suckled it like the pacifiers he abandoned a few short years earlier.

Once again the same incredible sensation he had witnessed only a few minutes ago was taking place. The same textures and flavors were back making him crave more. He would no longer need to ask his parents where catsup came from, because now he knew.

He got back to his feet and limped back to the kitchen. Once he got there he began rummaging through the fridge for a little red bottle. He ignored his mother who was still "sleeping" as flies explored every inch of her body. Finally he found what he was searching for. He opened it and started to chug it down. It got to his taste buds causing him to gag. It was the worst stuff ever and would no longer do. He needed it to be fresh. He tossed the bottle into the trash. His puny hands grabbed his mother's arms. Once he did this he began dragging her. He not could bear to see his mother snoozing in such an uncomfortable area. Once he got to her bedroom he used all his strength to pull her up onto it. In was unbelievably hard. Once this task was complete He headed back through the kitchen and out the door.

The sun beat down on his delicate skin and blared in his eyes. His cute and adorable little dog ran up to him with yelps of joy. He played with it one last time before shoving a stick into its neck for easy access to his treat. It let out a bark of pain a couple of times before it stopped. He began sucking. His stomach began to fill up, weighing him down.

When he got done he picked up the pooch and put it into the doghouse so it would wake up in a nice, comfortable bed. This was also hard to do because of the lifting he had already done and because of the large amounts of blood he had already consumed.

He was full but he wanted more. He decided to walk down to the beach, he knew there would be someone there. It was only a few minutes away. Although it was such a short distance it seemed to take forever, thanks to his stomach. He waddled over to it the best he could.

Finally he had reached the beach. However, It was rather odd for some bizarre reason. Of all the times he had bee there before there had been at least twelve people, now there was only one. It was an elderly fisherman. He was sitting contently on a dock with a pole in his hands.

Ray walked on the shore looking for a blade-like rock. After several minutes of scavenging he had found it. He picked it up and made his way toward the old man. His small feet hardly made a sound on the dock. The fisherman was not aware that there was anybody behind him. Ray got closer. After a while a shadow was cast over the man, this caused him to turn around. "Hey ya little boy," he said.

"Hi," he said back innocently as he swung the stone though the man's neck.

Blood spewed out of ray's victim. He tried to speak but all that came out were crimson bubbles.

Ray bent down over the man. He was not going to drink however. He was keeling over in pain. He drank too much. His body rolled over into the water. He tried to escape from his watery grave, but the contents of hi stomach caused too many problems. Water rushed into his lungs as fast as the blood went into his stomach. There was nothing he could do.