I wanted to share this with you - it is written by my 17 year old daughter. Several months ago, an 20 month old baby from Kentucky swallowed chemicals from a meth lab and eventually died a horrible death. This is my daughter's interpretation - from the point of view of the meth lab. Chilling ...
Dear World
by Christine Rightmyer
I killed a little boy last night. In the emergency room, he kicked, and screamed, and then he just...died. Like he didn't even think about it - it was not a big deal to him. He swallowed my liquid fire from a tea cup sitting on the stove, surrounded by disinfectants and old Bic lighters. It wasn't my fault he was twenty months old. He didn't know any better and neither did I.
I can only imagine what it felt like for him, the flames traveling down his esophagus, settling in his stomach. Caress the ribcage, tap the sternum. I wonder if his heart began to beat a little bit faster before the fire hit his small intestine. The temperature began to rise, a boil starting to turn. I'll bet he started to choke and cry, spit bubbling out of his tiny pink mouth. He starts to quake, flailing against cold linoleum. Grandfather notices, before it dawns on him what exactly he has done. He stares at the tea cup face down on the floor, then at his grandson, who is no longer shaking.
by Christine Rightmyer
I killed a little boy last night. In the emergency room, he kicked, and screamed, and then he just...died. Like he didn't even think about it - it was not a big deal to him. He swallowed my liquid fire from a tea cup sitting on the stove, surrounded by disinfectants and old Bic lighters. It wasn't my fault he was twenty months old. He didn't know any better and neither did I.
I can only imagine what it felt like for him, the flames traveling down his esophagus, settling in his stomach. Caress the ribcage, tap the sternum. I wonder if his heart began to beat a little bit faster before the fire hit his small intestine. The temperature began to rise, a boil starting to turn. I'll bet he started to choke and cry, spit bubbling out of his tiny pink mouth. He starts to quake, flailing against cold linoleum. Grandfather notices, before it dawns on him what exactly he has done. He stares at the tea cup face down on the floor, then at his grandson, who is no longer shaking.
3 comments:
Bobbi, your daughter is one gifted woman, who really knows how to "see." I can see that vision like that comes from being around someone else who can "see" so well. Bravo to you both!
Bravo to your daughter...very vivid and chilling but so descriptive. Good Job!
Dan
Heart-breaking, but riveting.
Tears come for the innocents.
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