Anything Goes

Four Years Old

Tommy slapped her baby hands, watching the faint pink spread through her soft flesh.
She had tried to pull back the green curtains again.
Momma had not been home for two days and the phone was ringing all the time. Tommy was mad because it was so close to dark and he would have to shut-off the TV soon. Sissy was wide awake.
Tommy let the tears rush down his face, as Sissy screamed, her face red, her eyes mad at him.
"No, no, no, Sissy," he tried to keep his voice quiet, he squeaked. "No, remember. No. We have to be quiet."
She screamed louder, moving closer to his face.
Sissy was so, so mad at him.
"Cookies, Sissy, we have two more cookies."

He felt her dirty hands and eyes watch as he moved towards the sink, holding her baby bottle.
The milk was almost gone; he filled the bottle the rest of the way with water, just a quarter full of milk to begin with inside.
He could feel the anger, his tears almost dry on his cheeks and he wanted to kill Momma. Rip her hair and kick her, poke her in the eyes for surely she would die from that.
From that and the hate she would see in his eyes. The bitter consuming empty he hate he felt. He would shoot it like knives into her eyes.
She would see it and die.
Because her heart would be broken.
He heard the knocking on the front
door.
Bang. Bang. Bang. He only paused for a second, looking at Sissy and her wet, untrustful blue eyes.
He was so mad.
He was so in love.
He stormed to the door and he did not care what happened. He was so tired.
He opened the door, smooth.