Copyright Penny Gadd
Instinctively, I moved it beyond his reach.
It wouldn’t stop him trying, but for the moment it was safe.
As he grew, I shifted it higher, observing that others took similar precautions with cherished possessions, seemingly intuiting the potential for damage, yet only fleetingly reflecting on his motives… and the inevitably shocking tantrums.
I deeply regret that no-one had the foresight to safeguard you, my dear. And that none of us further explored our concerns regarding his behaviour.
His personality is now, belatedly, the subject of both judicial and clinical investigation.
And you, sadly, are truly and irrevocably beyond anyone’s reach.
Emerging from the other side of a visit from the grandkids is almost like being reborn. The food, the drinks (and temporarily the cat) all disappeared from the house. Same time next year, then? 🙂 I missed my weekly interaction with Friday Fictioneers, hosted by the inimitable birthday-girl Rochelle, and found it hard to get going again this week.
castelsarrasin 
I recognise the game of moving the expensive things out of reach. A poignant twist in the tale here.
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Thanks for reading Iain.
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I imagine nothing is high enough.
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Very true.
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Yet another exquisite piece of writing, building slowly from material possessions to human life.
I am almost out of chapeaux!
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Please don’t say that! 😉 Thank you for reading and commenting so kindly.
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I remember those times when moving everything out of my toddlers’ reach was necessary 🙂
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Nothing can be fully observed unless it is touched, I find with my young visitors.
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lol, I hope the grandchildren are not the subject of any judicial or clinical investigations…
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No 🙂 In fact, their ‘fingering’ activities were far less obvious this visit, but the prompt did remind me of previous visits.
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Dear Sandra,
One has to wonder what goes on in the mind of the mothers of homicidal maniacs. You’ve captured it poignantly. Brava!
Shalom,
Rochelle
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Thank you, Rochelle. And I hope you had a lovely birthday.
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That last line is a killer.
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Thanks, Josh.
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Elegantly done, Sandra. What a closing line!
Susan A Eames at
Travel, Fiction and Photos
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Many thanks, Susan.
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A real drama in these short 100 words. And lots of blame, guilt.
Where were the teachers in all this?
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Sometimes you wonder.
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Too bad we can’t recognize the psycopath gene until it manifests to our great harm. Creepy, wonderful story 🙂
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Indeed. Thanks for reading.
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Another brilliant one, Sandra. I guess a break from us all to spend time with your loved ones didn’t stop your creativity!
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Oh it was a struggle, Dale. How quickly you get out of the way of writing. I almost didn’t make it for a third week.
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I like when you struggle because the result is fantastic 🙂
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The ending gave me chills. You are too good at psychological twists. I’m jealous.
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🙂 Thanks for reading.
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I wonder if we can identify the bad egg so early… the end was terrifying…
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I wonder too.
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Good story. I can imagine that you had your hands full with your little angels – or should I say devils. Glad to see you emerged undamaged and living to face another day. I’m sure, that with extra treats and a healthy dose of catnip, kitty will return. ~ Shalom, Bear
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She absolutely refuses to enter the room the girls slept in now. Her face when she discovered the youngest sleeping in ‘her’ bed…
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I can imagine. Our kitty at the moment is tail-kinked because I moved her bed six inches. Also upset about the new bookcase because it’s not large enough for her to stretch out. One of those cubby hole cases.
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I think you did great, and the last line tied everything together.
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Thanks for your support, Michael.
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Disturbing and poignant. The “you” that hadn’t put been out of reach…so sad.
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Thanks for reading Sascha.
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“the subject of both judicial and clinical investigation” tells a lot. i like the open-endedness. I think the last line refers to the plant, but it may well not. Good story.
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Thanks for reading. 🙂
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You’re welcome, Sandra.
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You’re back with a bang, Sandra, with this chilling tale
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Many thanks, Neil.
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Such a chilling tale and set up so perfectly from the first line.
But of course there is a part of me that thinks there is something to be said for Plant Parenthood 😉
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Hah! Good one. Thanks for reading.
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I can’t imagine what this must be like, thank goodness. A brilliant piece Sandra.
My story – Billy and me!
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Many thanks, Keith.
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Those who are the closest find it difficult to see the truth in another. Especially when it comes to parents and their children. Often, they are the most surprised. The way you built the story was brilliant, Sandra!
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Many thanks, Brenda.
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Ouch. Those early little signs, passed off as something else or easily missed…
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Thanks for reading. 🙂
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A sinister tale, I’m imagining a house with everything high up on the walls, the furniture ripped to shreds and covered in detritus and ink stains. Good stuff
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Sounds about right. 🙂 Thanks for reading.
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Toddlers and puppies. Even to drive a person to drink.
We had 3 spend the night last night. You’d have thought hurricane Dorian had hit Arkansas.
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I know the feeling, Russell.
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Ooo, creepy. And no, some things can’t be saved.
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Thanks for reading, Jo.
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A psychological story with a heart stopping last line. Loved this story, nevertheless Sandra.
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Thanks for reading, Neel.
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Such a poignant take.
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Thank you.
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The keeping things out of reach is quite familiar.
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Indeed it is.
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All too familiar childproofing takes a sinister turn in this piece. Nice conversion of the commonplace to the tragic.
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Thanks for reading.
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What exactly did he do? Did he tear the plant apart?
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A tragic and unexpected switch from the familiar annoyance of childish naughtiness to a much darker and more frightening reality. I’m wondering who the ‘you’ in the second half of the story is.
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How tragic to be the parent of a homicidal killer. It would be heartbreaking. When my children were young I just kept breakable things out of reach and left them to explore. My mother used to say that was how they learned. Well done once again, Sandra. 🙂 — Suzanne
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