…Came the power drill.
“Babababa!” Ben yelled, running into the room with a power drill clutched in his tiny hands.
“Ben Solo!” BX called, trying to muster up as much authority in his voice as his servile programming would allow. “Put that down this instant!”
Ben stopped midcavort; turned, his eyes wide and watery.
“Wait!” BX said. “Don’t…don’t–“
Ben opened his mouth and let out the loudest, most pitiful wail BX had ever heard. Then the boy plopped right there on the floor as tears spilled down his cheeks.
I cackled out loud when I read that, just picturing this little tyke with a mop of black hair shrieking with glee and running around the apartment holding a power drill. Everyone who has ever experienced the two-year-old toddler knows what it’s like to look over and see them with something they shouldn’t have been able to get a hold of. I don’t have kids, but I’ve done a lot of babysitting.
(© Last Shot by Daniel José Older, Del Ray.)
