“Out with the trash,” and I kicked my one free leg and thrashed my brother Brad on the leg. He was made of stern stuff and it was doing me little. I'd have to step up my efforts. “Good for nothing but dumping in with the pigs,” he continued. “It’s hot!” he complained, “The pigs sure could use a new pig… Hey, stop your squirmin… Hey, ow!”
I howled at the threat and kicked, ripping my cracked nails along his arm such that he dropped me. I had about a second to swing and catch hold of the door frame and railing before hopping over and sprinting flat-out yelling my glee at Brad’s chagrin. “You ain’t going to catch me!” I yelled back over my shoulder, when I slammed into a hard surface that shouldn’t have been there. Before I could gather myself up and figure out where I’d gone wrong. The sudden pain on my right ear-lobe did all the figurin I needed.
Out of the frying pan and into the fire. Could the day get any worse? Normally Mar would give me life’s lessons in avoiding Big Hands, but of late she’d turned into “Big Hands” herself.
“I got the twerp!” called Mar with satisfaction, giving it a twist such that I cried and crab-crawled following her. “I say we boil him into turd soup,” she said. “He’s half rotten already. I bet if we mash him down, nobody will know him from a turd,” she laughed gleefully.
I was screaming, “Help!” but nobody was paying me any mind. Besides, the louder I got, Mar twisted. I was deathly afraid I’d be turd soup before long. “No please Mar,” I begged when yelling for help wasn’t working. I knew for sure crying wouldn’t help, so I didn’t try that. Then I caught a glimpse of Mark, and he held a finger to his lips. He had real turds from the pig-pen. “Please, let me go,” I tried again. Then tried another yelled, “Help!”
Apparently the last help wasn't entirely sincere, and Mar got wind of the trick, but not before Mark blasted her. I was ready, and when her hand loosened, I ducked and dove under her dress and was out the other side before she could get me again. I narrowly missed getting a turd in the face as I ran for Mark. He tossed me a turd, and I caught it to spin and throw. Seeing the Hag bearing down on us, we split up and ran.
Meeting in the run between the corn rows, Mark handed me a corner of turd smeared bread. “You missed breakfast,” and I wiped it off on my trousers before gobbling it up. “Thanks,” I said.
“Where you disappearing to in the afternoons?” he asked me, and I looked at the sky. There was time, and I looked down. “Nowhere, I mean, I go for walks.”
“Sure, whatever. You just better get your chores done, or Brad might really throw you out. Here, I’m not hungry anymore,” and he handed me his portion. He then went to the split rail fence and climbed it up to use it to travel across. He figured himself an ‘elf’ in his acrobatics.
“Thanks before,” I told him rubbing my ear. My brothers might thrash me, but it was Mar that I was afraid of. I always felt like she’d melt me into jelly with her glare. I never wanted to know if she could really turn me into turd soup. The threat alone was enough for me to want to get lost.
Note: This post was resurrected from my old site. It may not be the one that showed up on the site. The date of publication here is from when it was added to this site.