Put A Sock In It

put a sock in it

“Make it stop,” the man commanded. His wife looked up at him, her heart beating faster with each passing moment.

“I can’t,” she admitted quietly with a quivering voice. She cleared her throat and repeated her confession, a bit louder. “I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t,” the husband asked in a steady, stern tone. He had to remain calm, had to keep the situation under control. His head was throbbing in time with his heartbeat. He could feel a migraine coming on and the piercing screams in the room were certainly not helping.

She could sense her husband’s patience running low. The wife panicked, her eyes darting around the room desperately as she looked for something to quiet the cries of the baby. She was in trouble; she didn’t know how to make it stop crying or what it wanted.

“I… I don’t know how,” she managed to stutter. She was sweating profusely, though it wasn’t any hotter than usual in their small studio apartment. Her breathing was short and shallow as she watched her husband’s face turn a deeper, darker shade of red. It looked almost purple and the vein in his forehead was bulging.

He clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth while he looked around the room. “Why don’t just put something in its mouth? Just put a sock in it,” he screamed, his voice booming over the cries. If she didn’t shut that baby up in the next ten seconds he was going to lose it.

She grabbed the nearest sock and shoved it in the baby’s mouth, instantly dulling the cries. She had to admit, she was in a little over her head. This whole kidnapping a baby thing was turning out to be more than she’d bargained for.


You Are What You Eat

“You are what you eat, little Johnny,” his mom warned, waving her perfectly manicured finger through the air.  Her golden brown hair was set in big, loose curls, without a single piece out of place.

Johnny looked up into her big brown eyes, searching for some sign of sarcasm on her face.  She stared back into her young son’s wide eyes, amazed at how much he looked like her.  With a little laugh and a shake of her head, she turned around and went back to her housework in the other room.

Johnny was left alone at the kitchen table, with only the remainder of his dinner in front of him.  He stared at the plate full of carrots and peas.  Johnny didn’t want to be a carrot or a pea; he didn’t want to be bologna or jelly or mashed potatoes.  He certainly didn’t want to be fish sticks or steak.  He didn’t even want to be whatever animal bacon came from!

He wanted to be what he was—a little boy. He looked up and down at his arm, and realized what he needed to do.  Little Johnny made up his mind.  From that moment on he would only eat people, thus ensuring he would always be a little boy.  He would eat what he was and he’d be what he ate.