Where Good Children Play

He fought hard but couldn’t break away. With one hand knotted in his dark, curly hair, my other submerged his head deeper and deeper. He threw and rotated his arms to the side desperately searching for a something, anything to latch onto. His revolving, clamped fists sketched imaginary ovals in the air as he struggled to breathe. His body turned and writhed, his stomach constricting and releasing, under my heavy palms.

I could hear him try to speak, his fragmented pleas floating to the surface as air pockets. But I remained emotionless, just like the other times.

Then, when it was time, I heaved him from the tub, his small figure meeting the bathroom floor in a loud slap. In between asphyxiated gasps, he coughed and spat at his feet. And after wiping his mouth on the front of his shirt sleeve, he looked at me with glistening eyes – his cheeks flushed and his lips curved in a mischievous smirk. “It’s your turn now,” he said.

And I grinned.

The Wall Between Us

“Damn it George – I thought you took care of it last time!” Mary’s feelers twitch at the thought of her insectoid husband’s neglectful behavior.

After sipping from a refreshing cup of oil, George turns to his wife. “You saying they’re back?”

“Yes! I just caught one in our closet trying to turn my bipedal figurine collection to something named Jesus!” She shakes her head. “You said the exterminator got rid of them all.”

Suddenly, a shriek sounds from the back of the house, and a six-legged Cara sprints out of her room. “Mom! Dad! They’re back! The humans! I swear I saw one take a dump in the bathroom sink. Eww!”

Mary casts an accusatory glare at her husband, and grabs a spatula from under the sink. It’s covered in red slime. “I didn’t think I’d have to use Mama’s human whacking stick again. I’ll just get rid of the little pests myself.”

“Honey –” George rises from the kitchen table only to sit back down again as he realizes any effort to stop Mary is futile.

“Just let me do this George. Hell, I’ll sand the walls and bedframes down to hide the burrows I’m sure they’ve made in our furniture.” She winces. “Oh, man, I can already smell the democracy coming off their privileged bodies!”

Mary and George’s son, Blake, stands against his mother, his wings blocking the path. “No, no, no! Mom, you mustn’t kill the humans! They’d make hilarious pets. Just look at them!” He reveals a yellow-haired pest clad in a blue business suit from his pocket.

The human, his small voice an inaudible squeal, says, “Let’s make America great again! With your superb skills, I’m sure we could build a wall fifty times larger than the Great Wall itself!”

Mary couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but something about the human made her abdomen ache. “Flush that one down the toilet, Blake; it belongs there with the other pieces of shit.”