Mush: A Short Story

I’ve recently posted some pretty heavy stuff from my life and I’m in danger of making my blog a bit of a bummer. So, here’s a cutesy little piece about killing bugs to lighten the mood. Thanks to everyone who’s been so supportive. This blogosphere is pretty neat stuff…

 

MUSH

 

I’m bringin’ home my baby bumblebee. Won’t my mommy be so proud of me?”

“Whatcha doin’?”

Ouch, it stung me!

“Whatcha singin’?”

I’m squishin’ up my baby bumblebee. Won’t my mommy be so proud of me?”

“Whatcha got?”

“It’s dead!” She laughs. Her cheeks redden.

“What’s dead?”

“The buuuuug.” She draws out the word, spraying saliva into the air. 

“I like it.” 

“You want it?”

“Are you sure it’s dead?”

“Uh huh.”

“Ok.”

The bug has become putty in her palm. She uses her finger to slide the mush onto Jeremy’s hand. 

“It’s slimy.” He giggles.

“And fuzzy!” 

They giggle together, pressing the mush between their fingers. 

“It’s all over me!” He lifts his hand toward the sun.

“It feels like jello.”

“Hmm.”

They stand for a moment, starring at the mush.

He raises his hand to his lips. Her eyes widen. His lips part. She gasps. His tongue extends out. Her mouth opens. A breeze blows. Tongue touches mush. 

“It don’t taste like jello!”

Laughter echoes through the playground. The boy’s face contorts. He spits and giggles. She falls onto the pavement. They can’t stop laughing. 

He stops laughing and looks into her eyes. She stops laughing, too. 

“I like mush,” he says.

“Me, too! I like dead bugs, too.”

“I kinda like something else, too.” He shuffles his feet, kicking up dust clouds.

“Whatcha like?”

“I don’t wanna say.”

“Can we smush it?” 

“Naw. We can’t smush it.”

She looks down and rubs her hand against the pavement, wiping off the mush. 

“Oh. I like to smush things.”

He sits down. She keeps wiping her hand. He stares at his mush.

“I like somethin’ with gold hair.”

“Gold hair?”

“Uh huh. That’s what my mom says it has. Gold hair.”

“Gold hair?”

“Uh huh.” She looks up.

“You wanna know what I like?”

“You sure you can’t smush it?”

“No!” He looks away. “I don’t wanna smush it!”

“Why not?”

“I don’t wanna kill it!”

“Well that’s no fun!”

“It’s lots of fun!”

“It don’t sound fun to me.”

“You don’t know nothin’!”

“Do to!”

“Do not!”

“Do to!”
“Well, I don’t like it no more, so there!”

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

He gets up and walks toward the school. A line has formed. He joins it. The bell rings. She jumps up and follows. Everyone goes inside. He doesn’t wash his hand for days. 

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