A Mother's Day story from the point of view of Evelyn Grace Williams.
I sat in the back seat of the automobile, strapped in like a mental patient, listening to the tall people babble on about how the rain has sullied the paint of their new car.
Psh, "new." Its older than I am.
New. Ha.
They had tried to lull me into a stupor with a nice dinner, interestingly enough eaten to celebrate the day of my mother becoming a mother.
Hey, I thought that was my birthday, but nobody got me any presents. What a bunch of... wait, what are they talking about?
I distinctly heard the bearded one mention the Carrash.
No.
He couldn't.
He wouldn't.
I mean he just scrubbed down this piece of junk a week ago. I don't care if the birds did go poopy all over it, its still plenty clean in other places.
Maybe I should explain. The Carrash is a giant monster that lives in this big brick building out by all the stores. He tries to lure in small children by posting stuffed animals of cartoon characters like SpongeBob and Bugs Bunny outside his noisy maw. Somewhere inside the beast's belly lurks an image of my only real friend, Elmo, but I have to remind myself that this is another facet of the beast's trickery.
This beast devours our car, and then proceeds to poopy us out its back. The car looks cleaner, sure, but at what cost? Everyone knows the beast is using its disgusting acids to burn away the car dirt, and its only a matter of time before the acids eat away at the protective barriers that save us from becoming an actual meal.
The bearded fool has just reached in his wallet and gave a minion of the beast his money card.
Oh.
This is not good.
My brain starts going into over time as I begin running through every possible scenario. Every single time I've not wanted to eat a meal, I've always said "all done," and the tall people have taken my plate. When I'm tired at the park, I say, "all done" and we go home.
It'll work. It has to work. "All done" is the only magical incantation I can use. Its all I know.
We're entering the monster's mouth and a girl starts spraying some liquid all over the front of the car. Obviously she is basting us for the feast.
I begin chanting slowly, "all done. all done. all done."
They don't hear me. Or perhaps the incantation needs more magical force behind it. Or perhaps the monster is too powerful. No, I can't allow myself to think like that.
"All done. All done."
Oh no, the blue teeth are sliding over the front of the car and over the roof. We're going in!
"All done! All done!"
Now the extra set of teeth, the ones that spin, are starting to rush over the sides of the car and terror breaks me. I begin to scream the magic words, "ALL DONE! ALL DONE! ALL DONE!"
Nothing. We pass into the monster's stomach where his farts dry the car.
And there's the image of Elmo, taunting me from within the great monster's intestines. We pass through, becoming the monster's poopy, again narrowly escaping death.
The tall people are fools. Some day the protective barriers of the car won't protect us.
Someday... I'll be better prepared.
