Fifty-Three
The morning was cool as a fall wind blew in through the curtains of his room. He liked sleeping in the cold, cuddling his stuffies under the blankets while reading to them the way his parents and grandfather read to him. Learning things like how to hide quickly and quietly was fun as his parents started training him as early as possible. He giggled, the soft, belly-deep sound muffled by the tented duvet he was sitting under. His eyes glanced at the clock, noting the time. His grandfather was usually up at this time, drinking that icky black stuff he liked. The boy tried it once, and was disgusted by the bitter, dark liquid and swore never to sneak a drink of anything he didn’t recognize by sight or smell. Mommy called it a learning experience. She was right. He learned that the liquid wa
- Writer
