Squigglies
by Michael A.
Kechula
Billy vomited
green gunk.
“What’s
wrong, Billy?”
“I got
morning sickness, Mom.”
“That’s
silly. Boys don’t get that.”
“Yes they
do.”
“Says who?”
“The
little purple ladies from the flying saucer.”
“Dammit!
You’re making up weird stories again.
You’re grounded for lying!”
“I
ain’t lying. They shot little squigglies
into my stomach with a ray gun.”
She worried
that her eight year old might be schizophrenic.
As she was about to call a psychiatrist, an inner
voice said, “He’s not schizophrenic.
Rejoice! Your son will soon give birth to a most
magnificent species. His spawn will dominate
Earth and reign in glory forever.”
She didn’t
understand why Loch Ness Monster came to mind.
“I’m
too young to be a grandma,” she muttered
when Billy vomited again.
|
