PostHeaderIcon Little Pill

By Jael Strong

Mama is trying to kill me.  I think so.  She gives me this thing. She says I have to take it to get better.  I’m not sick. 

I say, “So I can be a good boy?”

She says, “Yeah.”

I say, “If I’m a bad boy, I have to take this?”

She says, “Sort of.”  I don’t know what that means. 

“So, if I’m good, I don’t have to take it?”  That pill makes me sick.  I’m gonna throw up.

“The doctor says you should take it.”

“‘Cause you tell him I’m bad?”

“No.  Because you’re a little bit over active.  You’re sick, not bad.”

I don’t feel sick.

Mama says, “It’ll calm you down and we can have a nice time.”

I don’t feel like doing anything when I take this medicine, only like not moving.

“Tommy doesn’t take this.”

She says, “Tommy’s not sick.  He doesn’t have to.”

“Tommy does what you tell him to do?”

“A lot of the time, but so do you.  Sometimes you don’t because you’re so hyper.”           

 I’m a viper?  “I’m sick, so I should take this?”         

  “Yes.  So, take it now so that we can have a good time.”

 “If I take this, we’ll have a good time?”

 “Yes, but not until you take it.”  She is standing over me and I put it in my mouth, the medicine.

“I’ll take it now then.  Where’s my water?”

“In my hand.”

“Then we can have a good time?  Maybe go to the park?”

“After you nap.  Take the pill, then go sleep on the couch. Then when you get up maybe we’ll go to the park.”

I swallow the pill and go sleep on the couch.  I fall asleep fast.  I think it’s killing me.  It’s like that.  I think mama wants it to be like that.

About the Author
Jael Strong is a writer for TheWriteBloggers, a company dedicated to creating professional blogging content for increased internet visibility.

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