My Cookie

It was gone.

I wanted it, but it wasn’t there. I stared at the space it should have been, my eyes unfocused. My fingers twitched, making murderous shapes.

Someone had taken my cookie.

My special cookie. The cookie my first grade teacher made for me, and wrote my name on top with curly, red icing.

I was going to kill George.

George. Mommy’s favorite. Everybody’s favorite. Older. Faster. Smarter. No one cared about me. No one cared that I was smart too. No one cared that I could read better, or that I could climb high things, or jump into lakes without any fear. No one cared.

But they’d care if I killed George. Everyone would care about me.

Because, everybody was wrong about George. He was mean. He called me names, told me I didn’t belong, told me I wasn’t wanted.

Now he’d taken my cookie. My special, important, one and only cookie. With my name on it. My eyes narrowed and my fists clenched. I’d rip open his stomach and get it back. He'd already stuffed his fat face with sweets. I hadn't gotten any because they were bad for little girls.

It was a Saturday, and George usually went out with his fat little friends on Saturdays. They went to the park, then the ice cream shop, then came home. He gets ice cream and my cookie. I growled.

It was an easy walk to the park, but today, everything annoyed me. The birds. The sunshine on my pale skin. The old ladies saying, “Such a sweet little girl!”

I was not sweet. I was not little. I was going to kill my stepbrother. Let them call me cute after that.

I followed the sound of laughing boys down the street. It was quiet. Peaceful. A small town. A playground. George and his friends were in the second grade. They liked the playground. I was in the first grade and far too young to be allowed on the slides. I was too grown up for that kind of thing anyway. I was a big girl.

“Gorgie?” I called out to him. He looked like me. Pale skin, red hair, but we both knew it was only mommy’s red hair coming out. We both knew we were nothing alike.

“What up b-” and he added a word that mommy wouldn’t like it if he knew. I grinned. I had another reason to kill him now. I walked up to him- a full head shorter. Everyone was taller then me. It wasn’t fair-but it didn't matter now. My fingernails dug into my palms as I looked at George. He had red icing on his lip. My cookie. I wanted to put more red on his fat lips. I wanted to rip them off and go fishing with them. Maybe I would.

“Georgie?” I said again, sweetly, smiling. “You took my cookie.”

"So? I wanted it. Get out of here you c-" and he used another word mommy said I must never use.

And then I lept on him, fingernails and teeth ready.

His friends watched, wide-eyed, unsure of what to do. George laughed when I took him down- a laugh that changed to screams as I started clawing out his eyeballs. I giggled manically as my fingernails burst one of them. His friends began screaming. Trying to pull me off. I kicked and bit, focused on one goal and one goal only.

I wanted my revenge.

I wanted my cookie.

There went his other eye.