Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-33904527-20190629171243

When I was young,

A child of around seven, or eight,

I had a hobby:

Whenever the sun shone bright,

I would dance all through my house.

Prancing along the floorboards,

Without a care in the world,

Just enjoying the sunlight.

Only me,

And the little tune in my head.

But one day,

As I strolled through the kitchen,

Practicing my cartwheels,

My hand slipped,

And knocked down a dinner plate from the counter.

It shattered instantly,

Little ceramic pieces bouncing onto my feet.

And I gasped,

Knowing that Mother

Would have heard.

Soon, she appeared at the kitchen door,

Like an apparition,

Scowling a nasty scowl,

My face red and tearful,

Her face filled with anger.

Before I could say a word,

She grabbed me by the ear,

Storming upstairs,

With me in her grasp,

As I screamed and wailed.

Within moments,

We were at our destination.

A large closet,

Dark and dingy,

And no bigger than a bathtub,

She pushed me inside,

Slamming the door

And locking it tight

With the turn of a key,

Sealing me in.

I begged to be free,

Banging my fists against the door,

Tears still streaming down my face,

Promising I'd be good.

To which she replied:

"Every time you misbehave,

I want you to remember.

If I had wanted,

You could've been

One of them!"

I knew she meant the jars.

I slid down the wall in anguish,

And her footsteps faded away into the house.

I was left alone,

Crying and staring at the jars.

They sat upon an old shelf,

Half a dozen of them.

All lined up,

In a row,

Each about the size of your fist.

A viscous fluid oozed inside of them.

It was thick, and transparent,

Allowing me to see the monstrosities

That hid within,

Only just visible.

They were pinkish creatures,

Like little gummy people,

Six of them stashed away in those jars.

Their arms and legs stretched out in front of them,

Floating gently within the fluid.

I hated those jars.

It pained me just to look at them,

As if the frail beings inside

Were watching me

With their tiny eyes.

So there I lay,

Drifting in and out of sleep

As the day passed by.

My slumber plagued

With horrible nightmares.

I dreamt of the creatures.

Let loose from their jars,

They surrounded me,

Crawling upon my skin

Like cockroaches.

I tried in vain to keep them away.

But there were dozens, hundreds,

And I found myself overwhelmed,

Slowly suffocating on the cold, hard floor

Covered in little gummy people.

The next day, I awoke

From my hell,

My mouth dry and arid,

To the sound of Mother

Unlocking the door.

She glared at me.

With a cold-blooded stare, she told me:

"No more bad behaviour."

And I nodded,

Frail and weak.

And from that day onwards, I made sure:

I never played,

I never danced,

And most importantly,

I never misbehaved. 