The boy grasped the grasshopper by it’s hind legs, held tightly as it writhed and squirmed, scratching softly against childish hands. The boy then proceeded to tear apart a wing. And then the other, grounding that grasshopper not for good, but for an entirely different purpose indeed. The boy could have sworn a squeak leapt from the grasshopper’s mouth. And another squeak, tormenting the boy with a warranted yet undesirable guilt.

The boy ripped the grasshopper’s head off, crushing it in those childish hand of his.The boy smiled in devilish approval at the “squish” sound that replaced the telltale squeaking. The boy threw the grasshopper’s body on the gritty floor of the garden and watched in awe as the decapitated remains of the grasshopper danced away its last few moments of life. Unpredictable pirouettes andwily wiggling were solid soldiers in the grasshopper’s choreography.

The grasshopper, with blood rising from it’s freshly made orifice, soon ceased dancing. The boy tried to frame in his mind the exact time and emotion of when the last droplet of existence faded from the grasshopper but the boys own troublesome thoughts kept him from being a reliable timekeeper of any kind.

The boy briefly eulogized the grasshopper in his typical mumbly fashion, and then searched the garden for another grasshopper but alas, recess was over for the time being.

Last 5 posts by Mike Lawrence

• The Ides of Starch - March 15th, 2006
• Correctional Felicity - February 14th, 2006
• "Ride My Cattle - January 17th, 2006
• Sandy Clause - December 22nd, 2005
• Origin Story - December 7th, 2005