Writing Prompt: Unusual weapon.
This one’s a bit dark.
I’ve never seen a crayon used as a weapon before. Crayons meant laughing while coloring, cute animals, large rainbows, happiness, imagination – things, I used to miss. Seeing it used as a weapon tainted everything it used to represent.
My mother was MacGyver-like in her creativity. She didn’t even think twice when he pulled up. Inviting him in with baking powder smeared on her face and an infectious smile as he walked through the door. After the door was shut and locked her elbow connected with his nose and down he went.
I hid in the corner.
After disabling him quick, she giggled and hummed as she tied him up to one of the moved kitchen chairs. Prying his eyes open with tools from the pockets of her apron, she chattered throughout his screams of pain. Once in position, she grabbed my sister’s crayons off the coffee table and force the dulled end into his right eye.
The man shrieked.
“Ohh,” she said with a giggle. “That one had range!”
I know why she did this.
“That’s more like it. Less of a mess to clean up later.”
I’m glad she did it.
“Oh darn, I used Mikaylah’s favorite color.”
The man’s vocals could no longer keep up with the pain my mother inflicted, and his cries became hoarse.
My mother returned, her apron dirtier than before. But in her hands, she held my sister’s bib and her recently purchased toddler paint set.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Please stop! I’m sorry!” his cracked voice and ran together words are barely understandable.
My mother tuts and taps a finger against his lips. “Oh honey. It’s good to apologize but sorry won’t bring my baby back.” Then she lifted his chin. Used another metal object from her apron to keep his mouth pried apart. And started pouring the open bottles of paint down his throat. “Open wide, don’t want to make a mess now, do we?
Copyright © Taylah Morgan 2017