Wednesday, October 22, 2014

A Burnt Child Dreads the Fire

It's day two of the whole proverb thing and I thought with Halloween coming up I'd try to write a horror story or at least attempt one. Yellerzine recently invited people to submit to their zine with the theme Tongue-in-Cheek. I'd like to think that I was influenced by that somewhat and the story is only in jest. Any no I did not submit this story I sent them a pleasant poem instead.
 
Graphic content below. If you're of a weak disposition look away now.
 
A Burnt Child Dreads the Fire
Baby Christopher was a right brat. He bit into baby Betty's leg and tried to gouge good little George's eyes out. He even went as far as gluing the dog's tail to the floor and stabbing Uncle Trevor in the back with a Stanley knife. His father, Marty, had tried everything and realised enough was enough. 

One day, when his lovely wife Megan was getting her hair done, Marty had a brainwave: throw baby Christopher into the fire. After all he was a brat and brats had to be taught. Now the aim wasn’t to kill the child only to burn him enough to frighten the devil out of him. After all wasn't it said that a burnt child dreads fire? Before baby Christopher sussed what was going on Marty grabbed the child by his arms and flung him into the roaring fire. Baby Christopher kicked and hissed and tried to get out of the hot coals but Marty held him down with a poker stick. Ignoring his screams, he set his stop watch for ten seconds which he thought was adequate time to turn Christopher into a reformed, well-behaved baby.

As the seconds ticked Marty got thinking. He could turn the whole burning baby thing into a business. Baby Christopher started to wail like a fire engine but Marty did not hear him he was picking out his fleet of blue minivans in his mind. The stop watch buzzed incessantly but Marty was still deep in thought. He saw himself branching out to burning problem teenagers and then adults. The length of burning would certainly have to be longer to burn the more acute problems away.

Baby Christopher roared and kicked violently.  But Marty didn't turn his attention to such things. He wondered about the different fires: gas, coal, wood, turf, and firelogs. What if his clients didn't have a fireplace? Could he supply a portable stove and burn on site? The alarm continued on as Marty sat deep in thought while Christopher lay silent in the fireplace burnt to a crisp.

1 comment:

Toirdealbhach Ó Lionáird said...

For once, the Irish version is not quite as graphic,Taidgh, "Bíonn eagla ar an té a dhóitear".

I wonder if he ever started the business though?