Precious Things
By Lamar Nelson


A week ago, I took Cindy’s ice cream cone. Four days ago, I kicked mud on her Sunday dress. Day before yesterday, I damn near ripped her hair out by the roots. She’s the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. I really like pretty things. They just don’t like me so much.
“Aunt Susan’s coming over with the new baby,” Mom had said a month ago.
We were all very excited. There’d been talk of the new baby even before she’d known she was pregnant. The day she arrived, grandparents from both sides of the family, as well as a collection of assorted aunts, uncles, and cousins were here to greet her. The baby was absolutely adorable and got passed around a lot…though he spent the whole time asleep. Mom and Aunt Susan were in the parlor with the other women while Dad entertained the men out back and the baby slept in the basinet. Seeing him reminded me of baby Jesus statues and figures you see around Christmas time. Sleeping there so quiet and serene, I had to admit he was a bit of a bore. So, I pinched his cheek. He wasn’t cute or quiet afterwards.
“Boyish hijinks” Mom had called it.
“Boys will be boys” Dad often recited. “Just need to get rid of the excess energy.”
A week later, they surprised me with a brand new puppy. He jumped into my arms like he was meant to be there, licking and squirming while his tail wagged incessantly.
“I’ll name him Champ!” I had proclaimed.
Dad grinned, proud that his son had chosen such a manly name. Champ and I were always together. Sometimes, he’d chase his tail and I’d laugh til my sides hurt. His tail never seemed to stop wagging, even when he was asleep. I decided that I’d take his tail with me to “Show and Tell”. Taking the big meat cleaver from the kitchen, I took Champ with me behind Dad’s big tool shed. At first, I couldn’t get him to be still, he was a puppy after all. However, I knew the trick. Rolling him over, I rubbed him on his belly and had him still just long enough to give him a good whack. What a racket he made! He was running all over the yard rolling around and yelping his head off. Mom and Dad wouldn’t let me keep him after that, so Dad took Champ for a car ride. I don’t know where they went, but wherever it was, Champ stayed there. Just as well, I suppose. His tail didn’t wag after I took it off anyways.
Today, I walked with Cindy down to the woods behind our house. At first, she didn’t want to come with me. Said I got her in trouble for getting mud on her dress. I told her I was sorry and wanted to play. I even said we could play King and Queen. Girls enjoy playing house, so I knew she’d go for it. Eventually, we found ourselves in the clearing where Dad often splits logs for the fireplace. There was a stump in the center, scarred with cuts from when the axe bit into it.
“So I get to be queen, right?” she asked enthusiastically.
“And I’m Henry VIII, the king, so you have to do as I say.”
“Okay!”
“Go clean the castle,” I order promptly; which she seemed more than eager to do. After a few minutes, I called out to her. “Queen.”
“Yes, king?” she replied sweetly.
“You’re under arrest.” Her eyes grew large in surprise.
“How come??”
“You didn’t clean good enough.” I saw she was upset by my words as she started to pout. Picking up the rope I once used for knot practicing, I stepped behind her and bound her wrists together behind her back.
“Am I going to jail?”
“Nuh uh. I’m a king, so I gotta cut off your head.”
“Aaaw!” she whined as she was forced to kneel before that stump, her head resting on top. The jagged, splintery wood pricked at her fair skin.
“My arms hurt,” the young girl complained. The bindings on her wrists were starting to make them red. “I don’t wanna play this game anymore.”
“It’s almost over,” I replied, hefting my trusty hatches from my many Boy Scout camping trips.
“Wh…what’s that for?”
“I gotta cut off your head.”
“But why?!”
“Cause that’s how the story goes.”
“But what if you cut me for real?!” Her struggles were intensifying.
“It’s okay. You’ll still be pretty.”
“I don’t wanna play anymore!” her fearful tears caused her large eyes to glimmer beautifully.
“It’ll be okay. I don’t wanna hurt you.”
“Really…?” The hopeful gaze melted my heart and I nearly died.
“Uh huh.” The hatchet rose into the air.
“Mommaa…!” the word was cut short.
I put Cindy into my backpack and took her home. “Finished playing with your little friend?” Mom asked.
“For now,” I replied as I hurried to my room.
I set her gently on my nightstand, brushing the hair and leaves away from her large eyes. They weren’t as bright anymore, somewhat dull. She didn’t have the same color to her cheeks anymore either. But I still thought she was pretty. I’ll keep her here, that way nothing bad can happen to her.


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I'm presently a college student who is beginning my writing career. My blog is a mixture of literary and cultural observations.