When the Blood Smears * Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Burial Re-Dug

That stupid cat was already past age expectancy, and that little girl, oh I'm sure she was faking it. Not once did I ever see her play with Skittles. Better yet, I cannot remember the last time I saw her outside. It's practically three in the morning but still no sleep. My stomach hasn't settled since the conversation at the door, and that was hours ago. Oh gosh!

I race into the hall, nearly running into the bathroom door. If I remember correctly, the last time I puked was in the fourth grade over a mustard kiwi sandwich. I brush aside the shower curtain, launching myself to the toilet. I make it, barely. Vomit everywhere.

"Why me?" I mumble, short of breath.

The queasiness has settled, but only in minor terms. Careful not to disturb my stomach any further, I get up. With a solid grip around my waist, I pace back to the bedroom. Once settled on the floor, I listen distinctively for noise. Dad is away on a business trip, so Mum would be the only one who could have heard me, but the air is silent. If I recall, she was always a heavy sleeper.

Although now would be the perfect time to lie down and get some rest, I will not. My condition isn't going to get any better unless I do something about it. I have to get rid of Skittles, for good.

***

Suppose by chance I ran over the neighbours cat. What if I said, it was an accident. Does it make a difference? Hell, I don't believe Mr.Freddick would admire me anymore for my honesty. The way I figure, I did them a favor burying Skittles in the backyard. In such a mangled state, how was a child to handle it.

My father keeps a good shovel in the shed just in case, brilliant for scenarios like this. Without a second thought, I take it in one hand, while closing the door with the other. Not one creak, which I also have my dad to thank for.

"Alright, let's do it" I encourage myself.

The ground is tough behind the shed, packed neatly as if still fresh from put down. I drive the shovel in deep, forcing weight onto the back with my shoes. Bringing it back to the surface, I struggle against the weight. A moment later I repeat, and then again, and so on. A small cardboard box merges within minutes. It's been punctured from the shovel, but other then that, looks fine.

I wipe a layer of sweat from my forehead, then crouch to release the box. An awful stench releases, causing another uproar in my stomach. I fight to ignore the feeling. Twisting and turning, I'm not sure how much more I can take. Dropping the box momentarily, I rush to the nearest bush. I feel disgusting but nothing happens. Pain thrives through my body as I groan agonizingly.

"Throw up already!" I shout between groans.

Counting desperately, I realize this isn't working. With caution, I crawl back towards the box, holding my breath. I proceed as before, but now comes the worst. My fingers grasp the edge carefully, lifting the flap. I squint, not wanting to look, but to my surprise, the box is empty. A small gasp finds it's way to my lips and I take no time tossing the box away. I don't want to think about it just yet. Right now I've got a hole to fill.