The Crayon Box

Read a longer version here: http://www.microhorror.com/microhorror/author/m-allman/the-crayon-box/

You’re seven and innocent, or at least your missing front tooth and the three freckles across your button nose give that impression. Nevertheless, under your tuft of blonde hair lives a cesspool of disturbing thoughts. You giggle while using a purple crayon to draw the bicycle spoke you tied the kitten to before racing up and down the street. Dumping the contents of your crayon box, you find red and use it to make the kitten’s blood trail on the asphalt. Grandma sees your drawing and scolds about golden rules. She forces you to sit in the small chair in the corner. As you sit in the corner, a plan presents itself. The baritone voice that only you can hear gives you an idea. Laughing wildly, your chair tips over.

“Boy, pick that chair up and face the corner. Just wait until your mother sees these drawings I’ve found.” Grandma waves your notebook in the air. “She’ll have you committed. Why, that kitten was your birthday present, and your sister’s puppy, who would’ve thought…” She rambles on as she walks out of the room.

The middle finger on your right hand rises and secretly gestures to Grandma. You know it means a bad word, but you don't care; she deserves it.

You snicker.

Suppertime. Grandma allows you to wash up for dinner. In the bathroom, you find it, the bug poison she uses to kill ants. It’ll probably take a lot to kill a person, so you slip it all into her coffee.

After your Grandma’s funeral, you scurry to your room and retrieve the notebook from under your mattress. You dump your crayon box and sift through the colors, you can't find it. You don't have a color that matches Grandma's sallow complexion as she lay in her casket.

WC 300