'Little Boy' was bored that afternoon; he just could not stay indoors as demanded by his ever so busy mother. Sometimes he thought his mother hardly ever considered he existed since he had learnt to do alot of things independently. Don't you go running away and you make sure you are around when your Pa comes back. He looked at his mother with his big dopey eyes and with his lips pouted. His mother refused to look at him because if she did, she would give in to him. He knew his mother's heart too well, but that afternoon his mother was not going to be tricked again. She did not want to be disappointed again.
The last time she gave in to his demands had such bad consequences that she would not trust him again. She had allowed him to join his friends in a local skateboard competition, with the promise that it was going to be safe and accident proof, but he came back with a broken arm. Enough was enough. She had enough of work in the house, having to take care of a sick bedridden eighty year old mother, three more children of ages from one to six, and an always hungry husband. ' Little Boy' was the eldest, an eight year old autistic boy. A squeaky sound interrupted the woman's thoughts. Squeaks again. As swift as a flash of lightning, 'Little Boy' ran to the kitchen. He squatted at the sink cupboard. He opened its doors and took out from inside, a wire cage used by his mother for trapping rats. He expressed disgust at the huge black rodent in the cage and as he drew it out of the cupboard, he could hear his mother's equally excited voice. Take it out to the backyard! Take it out to the backyard!
He did not understand why his mother had to repeat her instructions so many times. Perhaps she was extremely scared of the animal herself. The poor animal was as scared as his mother. It was running to and fro from one end of the cage to the other. Its beady eyes had no expression but its whiskers were twitching furiously. When 'Little Boy' finally put the cage down on the ground in the backyard, the house rat thought it could escape. It dashed into the wire cage again and again. Sometimes it stopped to nibble at the wire. You can't break the wire, stupid rat. 'Little Boy' teased. He forgot all about his boredom. His mother came out with a kettle of hot water. Move away.
I am going to kill it with this boiling water before it sends an 'SOS' to its friends. That was how 'Little Boy's mother used to tell him; that if he needed help, he should send an SOS, that he should seek help and not keep his problems to himself. Perhaps it was her attempt to joke in such a horrible situation. She was going to kill the animal. How horrible! Go away! Don't look! However, 'Little Boy' refused and with a glint in his eyes, he looked on. He saw how the rat squealed, dashed against the cage like it had been possessed by an evil spirit, stopped momentarily, and he even went on to observe how its legs became motionless as it laid in the cage. Horrible, horrible ! His mother yelled. Why do I have to do this? I hate it.
'Little Boy' did not understand why his mother had to be so upset about killing the dirty pest. Next time, let me do it Mum. He requested. There will be no rat in this house if we do not have left over food in the dustbin or in the drain! The trouble with you all. Wasting food.
His mother was indeed angry that afternoon. While his mother was having her afternoon nap, 'Little Boy' took the dead rat out of the wire cage, using a pair of iron tongs. He did not know what to do with it at first. He was sure he would not want Mrs Green's big fat cat from the house next door to make a meal out of it. Ah! He had a brilliant idea. He decided to put it into Mrs Pinkie's laundry basket. Mrs Pinkie was his other neighbour on the left. He wanted to scare her. He wanted to take revenge on her for she had always treated him badly. She had accused him of stealing her newspapers and bottles of milk. 'Little Boy' could not understand why she had made up stories like that.
The next morning, 'Little Boy's mother came into the house after she had hung out her laundry to dry, muttering something about Mrs Pinkie falling down and breaking her pelvic bone after she was scared by a dead rat in her laundrey basket. She was extremely terrified of rats, especially dead ones. Now, Mrs Pinkie was hospitalised and there was no one to look after her house. Would you, 'Little Boy', go over to her house to feed her parrot and doggie? How did the dead rat got into the basket? 'Little Boy', don't you tell me you are the one that put the dead rat in her basket? No, Mum, no. I threw the dead rat down into the drain, Mum. Oh, that means it must be Mrs Green's black cat that carried it to the basket. What an unlucky thing to happen! Poor Mrs Pinkie! 'Little Boy' was too shocked for words.
A month passed by. Mrs Pinkie was back on her feet, though she still needed the crutches. Her thoughts had been wondering about what happened on that fateful day. She was removing the clothes from the basket and suddenly she saw a dead rat among the clothes. It was no ordinary dead rat; it was not one that had been killed by a cat because it would be mutilated or chewed upon. She thought she had seen the same kind of dead rat down in a drain somewhere but she just could not recall where. Angry thoughts were directed at Mrs Green. Mrs Pinkie was sure it was Mrs Green who had put it there on purpose. She remembered how Mrs Green threatened her with a dead rat, knowing that she was terrified of it since childhood. Why would Mrs Green do that? It was something that happened about fifteen years ago. Mrs Green and Mrs Pinkie were childhood friends who grew up and went to the same high school together. Somehow something happened that only both of them knew, Mrs Pinkie married Mrs Green's high school sweetheart. Since then, both girls were enemies and they never in their wildest dreams knew they were to be neighbours living two doors away. How they loathe the sight of each other and Mrs Pinkie would literally 'fume' when Mr Pinkie greeted Mrs Green. That whore! Who does she think she is? Miss World? Always giving men the come on look? Can't see what is so attractive about her! Mrs Pinkie just could not stand Mrs Green's confidence. The whole day would be hell for her husband should he dare to give any attention to Mrs Green.
Evil thoughts begin to develop in Mrs Pinkie's mind. I am going to show her who's boss. Walking up and down the living room, still holding on to a crutch, Mrs Pinkie almost forgot the pain in her left pelvis as she thought of a plot. Quickly she got dressed to go out. An idea was hatching. She was too excited to wait a day longer. She walked out of the main door of her house, locking it before she left.
She hailed for a taxi when she saw several of them waiting for its customers at a bay nearby. She instructed the driver to go to a hardware shop in town. Soon she arrived and in her haste to go into the shop, she knocked into a balding middle aged man who was coming out in a hurry too. The man tripped over the crutch Mrs Pinkie was holding and both of them nearly lost their balances. Mrs Pinkie was yelling on top of her head due to the sharp pain she suddenly felt when the man pushed her in an effort to stay upright. Both started to quarrel. The quarrel ended as fast as it started when Mrs Pinkie remembered what she was there for. She remembered that man, a Mr Potter something. She saw her husband talking with him once and they were not on amicable terms, if her memory was still good. Detestable man! She muttered under her breath.
Without much ado, she went into the shop and asked for a tin of red emulsion paint. She did not have time to bargain, which she normally would do just to make sure the shopkeeper would not overcharge her unnecessarily. She paid and left the shop, taking the same taxi she boarded before. The driver was happy to see her again. Soon, she was in her house. She opened the tin and with an old brush which she dipped in, she managed to get some amount of red paint enough to smear on anything. She sneaked out her kitchen into her backyard, looked around to make sure nobody was watching and in quick small steps, she moved over to the wall where Mrs Green had her favourite bedspread out for drying. With a wave of her right hand a big blob of red paint fell on the beautiful blue floral cloth and it was such a huge stain that it would surely break Mrs Green's heart. Mrs Pinkie was satisfied with what was done and feeling victorious, she went back into her kitchen. She was elated and feeling exhausted from the day's activity, she sad down on her sofa in the living room to rest.
She checked to make sure the brush and tin of paint was out of her husband's sight. She definitely would not allow her husband know anything of what she had done. Soon she was dozing off. After some time, she thought she heard something in the kitchen. Must be the cat looking for a rat! Pussy, Pussy, don't you bother me. She heard the kitchen door creaking but she was too tired to get up.
That evening there was much commotion in Mrs Green's backyard. Mr and Mrs Green could be heard talking loudly about their bedspread. 'Little Boy' who had just come home from the playground
heard about the commotion. Ah, the red paint! He thought it looked familiar. Yes, he saw Mrs Pinkie coming home that afternoon with a tin of red paint. He knew about it when the loud sound of the taxi's engine interrupted his concentration. Oh, brother! Why can't it be absolutely quiet for once? He wished he was living in an exclusive place like the one he saw during one of his errands he did for his father.
Later that evening, there was another piece of news that made everyone shudder in fear. Mr Potter was killed in a bloody murder.
He was slashed five times in the abdomen. His house was cordoned off by the police. Almost everyone in the neighbourhood knew about it and were talking about it over dinner. Mrs Pink was more than shocked. I have just seen him this morning. I knocked into him as I was coming out of the hardware shop. He was quite rude this morning and I was wondering what had got into him. Oh my, how scary! Mrs Pink rattled on at the dinner table. Mr Pink was puzzled as well. He was in deep thoughts and was not aware of his wife's chatter
as he slowly chewed his food. That evening everyone went to bed with an uneasy feeling that there was a murderer on the prowl around the neighbourhood.
The morning silence was broken by the sound of the siren from a police car, barking dogs and heavy foot steps. There were visitors at Mrs Pink's doorstep. Mr Pink opened the door and was surprised to see two police officers. Quickly, Mr Pink invited the in and asked what was the matter. One of the officers sat down on a chair nearby and told him in a quiet voice that both he and his wife were suspected for the murder of Mr Potter. But why us? We would never kill anybody! There's proof? What proof/
A butcher's knife? Red paint on the floor? Search the house? Do you have a warrant to do that? Alright, go ahead. I am sure you cannot find anything.
The other officer who had gone into the kitchen to conduct the search came out with the tin of red paint. Sir, this is the red paint that Mr Wong at the hardware shop was talking about. It was the same one that Mrs Pink bought that morning Mr Potter was found dead. The butcher knife was sold two years back and it came from Mr Wong's shop too. According to Mr Wong, there were only a couple of people in this community that bought this kind of knife. Not many of them. Could both of you come with us to the police station?
Hold on. I must call my lawyer first. Mrs Pink was in tears. She had just wanted to play a trick on Mrs Green. Now it had backfired. What is she going to tell her husband? What is the red paint doing in the house? When did you get this thing? Don't tell me you are the one who smeared Mrs Green's bedspread? This is ridiculous! Like life isn't hard enough! We did not kill Mr Potter! Yes, I quarrelled with him. That's because he did not pay me for my services. I repaired his TV and he hasn't paid me yet. But that is no reason for me to kill him!
The last time she gave in to his demands had such bad consequences that she would not trust him again. She had allowed him to join his friends in a local skateboard competition, with the promise that it was going to be safe and accident proof, but he came back with a broken arm. Enough was enough. She had enough of work in the house, having to take care of a sick bedridden eighty year old mother, three more children of ages from one to six, and an always hungry husband. ' Little Boy' was the eldest, an eight year old autistic boy. A squeaky sound interrupted the woman's thoughts. Squeaks again. As swift as a flash of lightning, 'Little Boy' ran to the kitchen. He squatted at the sink cupboard. He opened its doors and took out from inside, a wire cage used by his mother for trapping rats. He expressed disgust at the huge black rodent in the cage and as he drew it out of the cupboard, he could hear his mother's equally excited voice. Take it out to the backyard! Take it out to the backyard!
He did not understand why his mother had to repeat her instructions so many times. Perhaps she was extremely scared of the animal herself. The poor animal was as scared as his mother. It was running to and fro from one end of the cage to the other. Its beady eyes had no expression but its whiskers were twitching furiously. When 'Little Boy' finally put the cage down on the ground in the backyard, the house rat thought it could escape. It dashed into the wire cage again and again. Sometimes it stopped to nibble at the wire. You can't break the wire, stupid rat. 'Little Boy' teased. He forgot all about his boredom. His mother came out with a kettle of hot water. Move away.
I am going to kill it with this boiling water before it sends an 'SOS' to its friends. That was how 'Little Boy's mother used to tell him; that if he needed help, he should send an SOS, that he should seek help and not keep his problems to himself. Perhaps it was her attempt to joke in such a horrible situation. She was going to kill the animal. How horrible! Go away! Don't look! However, 'Little Boy' refused and with a glint in his eyes, he looked on. He saw how the rat squealed, dashed against the cage like it had been possessed by an evil spirit, stopped momentarily, and he even went on to observe how its legs became motionless as it laid in the cage. Horrible, horrible ! His mother yelled. Why do I have to do this? I hate it.
'Little Boy' did not understand why his mother had to be so upset about killing the dirty pest. Next time, let me do it Mum. He requested. There will be no rat in this house if we do not have left over food in the dustbin or in the drain! The trouble with you all. Wasting food.
His mother was indeed angry that afternoon. While his mother was having her afternoon nap, 'Little Boy' took the dead rat out of the wire cage, using a pair of iron tongs. He did not know what to do with it at first. He was sure he would not want Mrs Green's big fat cat from the house next door to make a meal out of it. Ah! He had a brilliant idea. He decided to put it into Mrs Pinkie's laundry basket. Mrs Pinkie was his other neighbour on the left. He wanted to scare her. He wanted to take revenge on her for she had always treated him badly. She had accused him of stealing her newspapers and bottles of milk. 'Little Boy' could not understand why she had made up stories like that.
The next morning, 'Little Boy's mother came into the house after she had hung out her laundry to dry, muttering something about Mrs Pinkie falling down and breaking her pelvic bone after she was scared by a dead rat in her laundrey basket. She was extremely terrified of rats, especially dead ones. Now, Mrs Pinkie was hospitalised and there was no one to look after her house. Would you, 'Little Boy', go over to her house to feed her parrot and doggie? How did the dead rat got into the basket? 'Little Boy', don't you tell me you are the one that put the dead rat in her basket? No, Mum, no. I threw the dead rat down into the drain, Mum. Oh, that means it must be Mrs Green's black cat that carried it to the basket. What an unlucky thing to happen! Poor Mrs Pinkie! 'Little Boy' was too shocked for words.
A month passed by. Mrs Pinkie was back on her feet, though she still needed the crutches. Her thoughts had been wondering about what happened on that fateful day. She was removing the clothes from the basket and suddenly she saw a dead rat among the clothes. It was no ordinary dead rat; it was not one that had been killed by a cat because it would be mutilated or chewed upon. She thought she had seen the same kind of dead rat down in a drain somewhere but she just could not recall where. Angry thoughts were directed at Mrs Green. Mrs Pinkie was sure it was Mrs Green who had put it there on purpose. She remembered how Mrs Green threatened her with a dead rat, knowing that she was terrified of it since childhood. Why would Mrs Green do that? It was something that happened about fifteen years ago. Mrs Green and Mrs Pinkie were childhood friends who grew up and went to the same high school together. Somehow something happened that only both of them knew, Mrs Pinkie married Mrs Green's high school sweetheart. Since then, both girls were enemies and they never in their wildest dreams knew they were to be neighbours living two doors away. How they loathe the sight of each other and Mrs Pinkie would literally 'fume' when Mr Pinkie greeted Mrs Green. That whore! Who does she think she is? Miss World? Always giving men the come on look? Can't see what is so attractive about her! Mrs Pinkie just could not stand Mrs Green's confidence. The whole day would be hell for her husband should he dare to give any attention to Mrs Green.
Evil thoughts begin to develop in Mrs Pinkie's mind. I am going to show her who's boss. Walking up and down the living room, still holding on to a crutch, Mrs Pinkie almost forgot the pain in her left pelvis as she thought of a plot. Quickly she got dressed to go out. An idea was hatching. She was too excited to wait a day longer. She walked out of the main door of her house, locking it before she left.
She hailed for a taxi when she saw several of them waiting for its customers at a bay nearby. She instructed the driver to go to a hardware shop in town. Soon she arrived and in her haste to go into the shop, she knocked into a balding middle aged man who was coming out in a hurry too. The man tripped over the crutch Mrs Pinkie was holding and both of them nearly lost their balances. Mrs Pinkie was yelling on top of her head due to the sharp pain she suddenly felt when the man pushed her in an effort to stay upright. Both started to quarrel. The quarrel ended as fast as it started when Mrs Pinkie remembered what she was there for. She remembered that man, a Mr Potter something. She saw her husband talking with him once and they were not on amicable terms, if her memory was still good. Detestable man! She muttered under her breath.
Without much ado, she went into the shop and asked for a tin of red emulsion paint. She did not have time to bargain, which she normally would do just to make sure the shopkeeper would not overcharge her unnecessarily. She paid and left the shop, taking the same taxi she boarded before. The driver was happy to see her again. Soon, she was in her house. She opened the tin and with an old brush which she dipped in, she managed to get some amount of red paint enough to smear on anything. She sneaked out her kitchen into her backyard, looked around to make sure nobody was watching and in quick small steps, she moved over to the wall where Mrs Green had her favourite bedspread out for drying. With a wave of her right hand a big blob of red paint fell on the beautiful blue floral cloth and it was such a huge stain that it would surely break Mrs Green's heart. Mrs Pinkie was satisfied with what was done and feeling victorious, she went back into her kitchen. She was elated and feeling exhausted from the day's activity, she sad down on her sofa in the living room to rest.
She checked to make sure the brush and tin of paint was out of her husband's sight. She definitely would not allow her husband know anything of what she had done. Soon she was dozing off. After some time, she thought she heard something in the kitchen. Must be the cat looking for a rat! Pussy, Pussy, don't you bother me. She heard the kitchen door creaking but she was too tired to get up.
That evening there was much commotion in Mrs Green's backyard. Mr and Mrs Green could be heard talking loudly about their bedspread. 'Little Boy' who had just come home from the playground
heard about the commotion. Ah, the red paint! He thought it looked familiar. Yes, he saw Mrs Pinkie coming home that afternoon with a tin of red paint. He knew about it when the loud sound of the taxi's engine interrupted his concentration. Oh, brother! Why can't it be absolutely quiet for once? He wished he was living in an exclusive place like the one he saw during one of his errands he did for his father.
Later that evening, there was another piece of news that made everyone shudder in fear. Mr Potter was killed in a bloody murder.
He was slashed five times in the abdomen. His house was cordoned off by the police. Almost everyone in the neighbourhood knew about it and were talking about it over dinner. Mrs Pink was more than shocked. I have just seen him this morning. I knocked into him as I was coming out of the hardware shop. He was quite rude this morning and I was wondering what had got into him. Oh my, how scary! Mrs Pink rattled on at the dinner table. Mr Pink was puzzled as well. He was in deep thoughts and was not aware of his wife's chatter
as he slowly chewed his food. That evening everyone went to bed with an uneasy feeling that there was a murderer on the prowl around the neighbourhood.
The morning silence was broken by the sound of the siren from a police car, barking dogs and heavy foot steps. There were visitors at Mrs Pink's doorstep. Mr Pink opened the door and was surprised to see two police officers. Quickly, Mr Pink invited the in and asked what was the matter. One of the officers sat down on a chair nearby and told him in a quiet voice that both he and his wife were suspected for the murder of Mr Potter. But why us? We would never kill anybody! There's proof? What proof/
A butcher's knife? Red paint on the floor? Search the house? Do you have a warrant to do that? Alright, go ahead. I am sure you cannot find anything.
The other officer who had gone into the kitchen to conduct the search came out with the tin of red paint. Sir, this is the red paint that Mr Wong at the hardware shop was talking about. It was the same one that Mrs Pink bought that morning Mr Potter was found dead. The butcher knife was sold two years back and it came from Mr Wong's shop too. According to Mr Wong, there were only a couple of people in this community that bought this kind of knife. Not many of them. Could both of you come with us to the police station?
Hold on. I must call my lawyer first. Mrs Pink was in tears. She had just wanted to play a trick on Mrs Green. Now it had backfired. What is she going to tell her husband? What is the red paint doing in the house? When did you get this thing? Don't tell me you are the one who smeared Mrs Green's bedspread? This is ridiculous! Like life isn't hard enough! We did not kill Mr Potter! Yes, I quarrelled with him. That's because he did not pay me for my services. I repaired his TV and he hasn't paid me yet. But that is no reason for me to kill him!
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