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[The Rev]

Chapter 1 ---


“Come on honey, its time to paint our toes.”

Everyday since Marky was five years old his mother would call to him for the same thing, time to paint our toes. The truth was, Marky’s mom Sylvia had been painting his tender tootsies since he was just a little squirmer crying for his bah bee. It started when Sylvia would tickle his toes to distract him and then for her own amusement she later decided to paint his toes just like the little girl she wanted. That dream was ended thanks to a ruptured uterus that nearly killed her and for all likelihood that would have been the better outcome for sweet little Marky.

Today though, sweet little Marky wasn’t a toddler on wobbly legs. No, today Marky is ten, but it’s still the same, time to paint their toes. It’s not like he’d know any different. Sylvia was a believer in home schooling. There was no TV, no radio. They did take trips together. They did everything together, just her and Marky.

After a few moments Marky had one toe painted a beautiful scarlet red. He paused as for some innate reason this act didn't seem natural. No longer able to contain his inner turmoil he blurted, “Mom do other boys paint their toes?”

Smiling his mother replied, “Only the special ones do honey.”

“Oh.” His face twisted in confusion, “Mom?”

“Yes honey.”

“I was wondering if maybe I could paint your toes today?”

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“Snap out of it Marky!” His lawyer, David Finch whispered harshly, his face broiled in hostility, “You might be a world class psycho-f*** fillet o’ s***, and the truth is I don’t care if you f***in’ burn for what you’ve done, but if I have to do my job and you want to get through this f***in’ mess you better look like you have a gawd damned ounce of blessed humanity in those vacant eggshells you call f***in’ eyeballs.”

“Now,” Finch forced a smile adjusting Marky’s shirt collar, “Remember what we talked about and show that jury what a nice young man you are.”

“I call Mark Porter to the stand,” announced the prosecutor.

Marky slunk by the prosecutor not daring to glance in his direction. He didn’t like Mr. Grouse and he imagined that one so obscenely fat a**ed would have the toes of a donkey soured by a bad case of onychomycosis. He nearly vomited at the thought.

His only thought as he sat down looking at the rows of onlookers and media was that he only wanted be home with his mother decorating their toes in the morning sunlight. That comfort could never be obtained however, Sylvia Porter passed away years ago. Her body never to be found. She just left one day and never returned.

Marky never recovered from that loss and as the proscecutor began his questioning Marky caressed the dried shrunken object in his pocket. It was this object that always quieted his spirit and gave him strength in tough times such as these.

It was a toe.

And it was his mother’s.
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The Rev on YOUTUBE

Stories
The Children
Toenails
OK to print.

[Novastorm]

I like it. Short, sweet, disturbing. Too bad you didn't post it in time for halloween. This is short but you crafted a nice image of Marky who grew up to be the disturbed Defendant.
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I dont know you and yet I feel a kinship...kinship.

[The Rev]

There will be more Novastorm .. this is just the sickly sweet beginning. and thank you for the compliment.
_________________
The Rev on YOUTUBE

Stories
The Children
Toenails
OK to print.

[Soundwave]

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Everything I post is ok to print, use, copy, use for inspiration, promote world peace, change lives, etc...and so on and so on.

Rumble Eject! Operation, collateral damage.