I am writing with the lovely i_id. Her entry can be found here.
No more eggs. With the sound of the crack of the shell on the floor, she had begun to cry, but forced herself to hold back, her hands clutching the sink to keep her body steady. She watched the cold liquid of the albumen spread slowly at her feet until its edge touched her bare toe. Dennis was outside for now, and she knew Martha was safe in the basement. Safe
, she thought to herself, when did it come to this?
Dennis was sitting on the tire swing, twirling around, playing that game where you twist and twist the rope and then let go. With every turn he looked in at her, and with every look her heart tightened, the fear mixed with the residue of but that’s my little boy.
“Mommy, there’s egg on the floor. Was that my egg?”
For a second she couldn’t hear her, but the sweetness of her daughter’s voice soon broke through and brought her back.
“No, sweetie, that was my egg,” she said, and bent over to pick the sticky shells up from where they sat. “There’s some cereal on the table for you. Coco Pops. I’ll get you some milk.”
Standing, she noticed the tire swing was empty.…so far, Mark, he has only been identified as John Doe. A woman was seen leaving the hospital earlier today, and some reports are saying this is his wife, but what I really want to talk about is the psychology behind this sort of thing…
“What’s that word, psycho…psycholedg…?” Martha was taking some Coco Pops from her bowl to give to Bunny.
“Psychology. It’s a big word for how people think,” she said, closing the fridge door. “For talking about what makes people sad or happy.” 20 June, it was still good. She unscrewed the cap and told Martha to say when.…can we really ever know what makes a terrorist? People like to say parenting
– “When” – people like to say sociopathy, but what makes a sociopath?
“Does Bunny need milk?” Martha nodded and she obliged. Within a moment, the front door slammed and feet pounded their way upstairs. She wondered if she should call for him.
“Dennis needs milk.”…the disease agent was called something like
Clarastridium tetani, we've heard…
She laughed, Clara, just like my name. It sounds too nice to be a killer.
“I’ll make sure Dennis gets milk.”
She stood at the bottom of the stairs, hand on the rail, her mouth poised. It was the crack of the bowl on the floor that stopped her. She could see the milk in her mind, spreading across the floor like the egg yolk, and wondered if it wasn’t some kind of auditory hallucination, and nothing followed.
“Martha?” she was running now.…I think it’s parenting, Shirley. These kids just aren’t getting the care they need, these monster parents just don’t know how to give love…
Neither mother nor child was breathing, as she lifted her daughter up, wondering if she could remember CPR or where the phone was. She wiped the milk from Martha’s face, and it tingled on her skin. The line rang for 911, and she held her hand to her face, finally taking a deep breath, and then another one just to be sure, and another one.
“Hello, hello? Hello. My daughter’s been poisoned, it was the milk, it was in the milk bottle, I don’t know what it was,” she coughs, “he put it in the milk bottle.”