I'm doing my usual business in the master bathroom. It's quiet and I could hear my children playing in the living room. All was well and calm until I heard a deafening screech. "It must be my two year old." I thought as I finished up. A small stampede of feet kept getting closer and closer to me. I panicked and before I knew it my two year old slammed the bathroom door open. Shutting it quickly behind him. He looked distraught, disheveled, and disoriented. Was he in shock? I still don't know.
I asked him what was the matter. He pointed to, the now, quite rooms that stood right outside the confines of the master bath. I repeated the question, staring at the fear in his eyes. He clutched at my leg as if the floor was crumbling around us. "I just need to wash my hands!" I begged, thinking only of my cleanliness in such a terrifying matter. Was I in shock? He clutched tighter as we staggered out of the bathroom, finally. All was still in my bedroom except for the terrible, scary, five year old big brother sitting on the bed. Ready to torture and torment us!
These stories are all rough drafts and partially true works of fiction.