This Hub Round Was SO AWESOME You Guys
And clearly the best lady won; mucho congrats, essbeejay!
*heehee i got one vote, guys! i'm so excited!*
Welp, since this round is over, I figger why not slap my name in lights over my piece and post it? Since this piece is also a little creepy, have a HAPPY HALLOWEEN, FROM ME TO YOU! (this is one of my favorite holidays, gals; hope you all have excellent and creepy-good ones!)
Stay inside, Mikey, your mother tells you. I can’t get a babysitter and I’m going to be late for work. Will you be okay on your own?
You’re five. Inside you shrink a little at the thought, but you nod, because if you can’t be a big boy for Mommy then the mean man from before might come back. You didn’t like him, not one bit. Mommy cried a lot when he was here.
So she locks the door and you stay inside, biting your lip and hugging Mr. Stuffles to your chest, hoping she’ll come home tonight.
It’s not so bad sometimes. When you’re by yourself, you can make your own friends to play with. They can be anything you want. Even if you can’t go outside, they bring outside to you. They’re walking flowers, and talking trees, and dancing squirrels. Sometimes a happy clown dances here and there with your other friends. You like it when the clown comes to play, but sometimes he wants you to do bad things.
Come outside, Mike, he sings, twisting the doorknob. Come outside and play.
You shake your head. “Mommy said to stay inside. Mommy said.”
What Mommy doesn’t know won’t hurt her, the clown says. Come outside.
You went outside one day. You walked all the way to the road before one of your neighbors caught you and dragged you back to her house for milk and cookies. That day wasn’t so bad, either. But Mommy got upset when she saw you left the door open. She yelled a lot. Then she cried. You hugged her and told her you were sorry, and she stroked your hair and said she was sorry a lot.
The clown goes outside a whole lot. He looks happy out there. One day there were other kids, older than you, who played a game in the street and ran when cars came. You forget your friends inside and watch them, memorizing the rules, wishing you could hit the ball with the bat like them. The clown dances with them, sometimes catching the ball in midair and putting it in one of their hands, sometimes throwing it farther and making them run out of sight. The clown likes it when they run.
One day you crack the door open to see where they run to. The clown throws the ball at you, and you catch it. It’s small and white and has red stitches on it. Soon the other kids run over to you, asking for their ball back, what your name is, if you want to play. You look at the clown, who grins wide, look at the ball, and almost step outside. But Mommy’s face the last time you did flashes across your mind. You toss the ball back and slam the door shut.
The next day the clown is angry. He tips over your mommy’s dresser and the bookshelf and your toy box, stomping on your toys. He breaks Mommy’s special mirror, stuffs silverware down the disposal, and rips the head off of Mr. Stuffles. He says if you don’t come outside then Mommy will know it was you who did everything, even though you know he did it. You hold Mr. Stuffles’ head and cry. The clown throws the baseball at you again.
This time you come outside. You play a game with the other kids. You start to smile. Then Mommy gets home.
She yells as she’s never done before. She spanks you so many times you can’t sit down and starts cleaning up the clown’s mess. You help. It was your friend who made the mess. When the house is clean and Mommy calms down she tells you that you’re moving to a new place called Townsville. The work is better and she can afford a nicer house, a neighborhood with more kids so you aren’t so bored every day.
The day you leave you look behind you. The clown is still in the house, frowning, tossing the baseball from hand to hand. As you watch he throws the baseball through the window of the apartment. You turn around and hum a little song to yourself and hold Mr. Stuffles, clumsily stitched together by your mother.
Are you happy, Mikey, your mom asks, to be leaving?
You think of the only friend you had that you’re leaving behind and nod.
*heehee i got one vote, guys! i'm so excited!*
Welp, since this round is over, I figger why not slap my name in lights over my piece and post it? Since this piece is also a little creepy, have a HAPPY HALLOWEEN, FROM ME TO YOU! (this is one of my favorite holidays, gals; hope you all have excellent and creepy-good ones!)
Stay inside, Mikey, your mother tells you. I can’t get a babysitter and I’m going to be late for work. Will you be okay on your own?
You’re five. Inside you shrink a little at the thought, but you nod, because if you can’t be a big boy for Mommy then the mean man from before might come back. You didn’t like him, not one bit. Mommy cried a lot when he was here.
So she locks the door and you stay inside, biting your lip and hugging Mr. Stuffles to your chest, hoping she’ll come home tonight.
It’s not so bad sometimes. When you’re by yourself, you can make your own friends to play with. They can be anything you want. Even if you can’t go outside, they bring outside to you. They’re walking flowers, and talking trees, and dancing squirrels. Sometimes a happy clown dances here and there with your other friends. You like it when the clown comes to play, but sometimes he wants you to do bad things.
Come outside, Mike, he sings, twisting the doorknob. Come outside and play.
You shake your head. “Mommy said to stay inside. Mommy said.”
What Mommy doesn’t know won’t hurt her, the clown says. Come outside.
You went outside one day. You walked all the way to the road before one of your neighbors caught you and dragged you back to her house for milk and cookies. That day wasn’t so bad, either. But Mommy got upset when she saw you left the door open. She yelled a lot. Then she cried. You hugged her and told her you were sorry, and she stroked your hair and said she was sorry a lot.
The clown goes outside a whole lot. He looks happy out there. One day there were other kids, older than you, who played a game in the street and ran when cars came. You forget your friends inside and watch them, memorizing the rules, wishing you could hit the ball with the bat like them. The clown dances with them, sometimes catching the ball in midair and putting it in one of their hands, sometimes throwing it farther and making them run out of sight. The clown likes it when they run.
One day you crack the door open to see where they run to. The clown throws the ball at you, and you catch it. It’s small and white and has red stitches on it. Soon the other kids run over to you, asking for their ball back, what your name is, if you want to play. You look at the clown, who grins wide, look at the ball, and almost step outside. But Mommy’s face the last time you did flashes across your mind. You toss the ball back and slam the door shut.
The next day the clown is angry. He tips over your mommy’s dresser and the bookshelf and your toy box, stomping on your toys. He breaks Mommy’s special mirror, stuffs silverware down the disposal, and rips the head off of Mr. Stuffles. He says if you don’t come outside then Mommy will know it was you who did everything, even though you know he did it. You hold Mr. Stuffles’ head and cry. The clown throws the baseball at you again.
This time you come outside. You play a game with the other kids. You start to smile. Then Mommy gets home.
She yells as she’s never done before. She spanks you so many times you can’t sit down and starts cleaning up the clown’s mess. You help. It was your friend who made the mess. When the house is clean and Mommy calms down she tells you that you’re moving to a new place called Townsville. The work is better and she can afford a nicer house, a neighborhood with more kids so you aren’t so bored every day.
The day you leave you look behind you. The clown is still in the house, frowning, tossing the baseball from hand to hand. As you watch he throws the baseball through the window of the apartment. You turn around and hum a little song to yourself and hold Mr. Stuffles, clumsily stitched together by your mother.
Are you happy, Mikey, your mom asks, to be leaving?
You think of the only friend you had that you’re leaving behind and nod.