Brick

brick

>you are twelve years old. your parents are very well-off. you know this, and you brag about it to the other kids.
>they don’t like that. sometimes they push you down and say mean things to you
>but they’re stupidheads. and their parents aren’t rich
>you love to build things. you had Legos when you were younger, then an Erector set.
>you’re getting a little old for them now, but the focus of your attention is Lincoln Logs
>you’ve spent hours in your room, imagining building your very own log cabin and making a whole town full of buildings
>you step back to admire your work. you especially like the three-story cabin in the center of the town. that’s where you wanna live.

>suddenly, you hear skittering in the hallway. it’s the family’s fluffy pony, Precious.

>she’s a white pegasus with a blue and green mane and tail. mom paid a few hundred bucks for her. good breeding and all.

>and she’s running into your room.
>your room with all the Lincoln Log buildings you spent hours planning and building.

>oh no.
>”pweshus wann pway!”
>the pony cavorts into the room, knocking over your buildings. your ideas. your work.
>she actually pauses, looking at the mess of Lincoln Logs, then tilts her head at your beloved three-story cabin
>you can’t even move… you’re in shock from all your work being destroyed. but you finally speak.
>”Precious… don’t you touch that cabin. Get outta my room.”
>”nooo! pweshus wann PWAY!”
>with that she bats the cabin, your labor of love. it falls to pieces, pieces like your heart is in right now.
>”What… what is wrong with you. Why would you do that. WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?”
>”puh… pweshus wann pway wiff boy! pweshus hungwy! want nummies!”
>”You… you want me to FEED YOU? After you destroyed all my work?”
>”pweshus wann nummies naow!”
>you feel a rage building inside you. this… this animal. this stupid, fluffy piece of
crap… this selfish creature…
>you pick up a handful of Lincoln Logs and start throwing them at the fluffy pony. a few bounce off her fluff, doing nothing. but a couple hit her in the head. her eyes water and she starts crying.
>”wuh wuh why huwt fwuffy? why huwt pweshus? boy is MEANNNNNN! you give bad huwties!”
>”Dammit, what’s all that noise up there?”
>dad’s home. crap.
>”Playing with Precious, dad. Sorry, we’ll keep it down!”
>you usher the weeping fluffy out into the hall and shut your door.
>stupid animal. destroying your work. but that’s when a plan starts to form itself…
>have to wait till tomorrow. mom will be at her club function.
>that gives you a good two hours after you get home from school before the old man comes home.
>two hours.
>a lot can happen in two hours.
>you actually find it hard to sleep that night… it’s like the night before Christmas and the night before your birthday rolled in one.
>you breeze through school. counting down the minutes until you can ride your bike home like the devil was chasing you.
>you’re home in less than ten minutes. usually takes twice that long.
>check the house. good… the maid was here earlier. perfect.
>find the fluffy pony in the rec room, playing with a ball. you throw the ball outside
through the back door.
>”Go get it!”
>”yay! pweshus pway bawl!”
>stupid thing doesn’t even remember you were lobbing Lincoln Logs at it last night. retard.
>you throw the ball and the fluffy retrieves it back to you. every time you toss it, you get it closer to the tool shed
>look around. coast is clear. why wouldn’t it be? these homes are huge. most of these people are never here anyway.
>push open the tool shed’s door. throw the ball inside. the fluffy follows, of course.
>the door shuts.
>now it’s time to play.
>”pway bawl?”
>you smack the fluffy in the face, knocking the ball from its mouth. it screeches.
>”ahhhh! why huwt fwuffy? fwuffy owies!”
>you roughly grab the fluffy by the back of the neck and drop her on the workbench.
>”You RUINED my work! You destroyed what I built! Do you even REMEMBER doing that last night?”
>”fwuff… fwuffy not shorr…”
>”You don’t even REMEMBER! You don’t even CARE! All I wanted was to build things and to be left alone… AND YOU RUINED IT!”
>”fwuffy no wann pway dis game…”
>”IT’S NOT A GAME! YOU’RE A STUPID RETARDED SELFISH PIECE OF… PIECE OF SHIT!”
>you feel exhilarated… it’s the first time you ever said the “s” word out loud.
>”fwuffy…”
>”SHUT UP!”
>it starts crying. that really ticks you off.
>”Shut up! Stop crying, stupid! STOP CRYING!”
>it sniffles, but fresh tears continue to roll down its cheeks. you smell something… and see that she’s wet herself
>”Apologize. Say you’re sorry for being selfish.”
>”fwuffy no undastann…”
>”I think you do. I think maybe you’re all a little smarter than people think. APOLOGIZE.”
>”fwuffy dunn no…”
>”Apologize.”
>”fwuffy no shorr…”
>you pick up a brick and smash its front legs.
>”APOLOGIZE! APOLOGIZE! APOLOGIZE!”
>you’re actually singing it like a song… repeating over and over.
>”APOLOGIZE APOLOGIZE APOLOGIZE!”
>”wahhhh fwuffy weggies huwt! fwuffy wann mommy an daddy!”
>”That’s MY mommy and daddy. YOU don’t have a mommy and daddy.”
>your hands are shaking. you grab a screwdriver. you jam its handle in the fluffy’s ass.
>it yowls, trying desperately to skitter away. you easily hold it down on the bench.
>”MY house. MY parents. MY toys. MY LIFE! You want it all, don’t you?”
>”fwuffy sowwy! fwuffy huwty so much! pwease no huwty poopie pwace!”
>you grab a pair of gardening shears… and remove its legs.
>”AHHHHHHHHHHHHH PWEASE STAWP!”
>”If you can fly out of here, you can live.”
>the fluffy, despite the blinding pain it’s in, flutters its little wings like a madman. it
actually lifts slightly off the bench
>”No shit.”
>the fluffy’s wings are moving almost with the speed of a hummingbird’s
>but before it can fly more than a couple of feet, the wings give out. it plops to the ground, which makes it screech in pain again
>”Nice try.”
>you pick it up by its wings and clip them off with the shears as well
>”NO TAKE WINGIES!”
>”Hey - you want nummies?”
>”wann wingies! wann weggies!”
>you honestly thought it would be dumb enough to forget its own missing appendages if offered food. color yourself surprised.
>you toss the fluffy onto the floor. its filthy, covered in dirt and blood.
>”David Beckham goes for the goal…”
>you boot the fluffy, bouncing it off the wall of the shed. it rolls across the ground
pathetically, still screeching
>you grab a brick.
>”Bad fluffies to straight to fluffy hell.”
>you raise the brick. the fluffy’s eyes get wide.
>”nuh nuh nuh no mowre huwt… pwease stawp…”
>”Bad fluffies go to hell.”
>you bring down the brick, bashing the fluffy’s body to a pulp. amazingly, it’s still alive.
>barely, though… blood oozes from its mouth and nose. it gurgles instead of screeching now.
>”I really value this time we got to spend together.”
>bring the brick down on its head. it’s over.
>clean up all the tools.
>wrap the body and parts up in a shoebox. bury it in the corner of the yard under a bush.
>next rain should destroy the box. worms will get rid of most of the body.
>go inside, wash up.
>after dinner, the old man calls to you from the kitchen.
>”Brett, have you seen Precious?”
>”No, dad… but the back door was open a little… I think the maid didn’t shut it tight.”
>”Oh, goddammit… your mother’s gonna be pissed that little fuzzball ran away.”
>”Yeah, I hope she’s okay!”
>”Well, we’ll keep an eye out for posters or something in the newspaper.”
>”Dad?”
>”Yes, son?”
>”If we can’t find Precious… can I have a dog instead?”
>”We’ll see.”
>dad’s office phone rings
>”David Hipster Financials… I… what? WHAT?”
>he looks to be in shock. oh god… what if someone saw you hide the fluffy pony? what if…
>dad sets the phone down.
>”You mother’s been in a bad accident, son… we need to go see her. Right now.”
>”I’m supposed to finish this book report…”
>”We don’t have time for that. SHE doesn’t have time. We need to go right NOW.”
>dad brings you out to his big Lincoln Town Car.
>”She doesn’t have much time left, son…”
>”She’s dying?”
>”She might already be dead.”
>”No! That can’t happen!”
>”She might already be dead. Might already be dead. Might already be dead…”
>you awaken in a cold sweat.
>you forget where you are for a minute
>Oh yeah… Best Western. Room 202. paid cash, of course.
>forget about the nightmare. you have things to do. your arson attempt didn’t work so well
>time for another plan
>but maybe… maybe you’ll hop down to the K-Mart and get some Lincoln Logs
>you’d like that a lot.
>you miss your Lincoln Logs.