Vol 1, Issue 2

Robert was reading Holes when he heard the familiar light slapping sound of the blue sheet being dropped into the basket. Normally he paid this action no mind. The blue sheets were as much a part of the school’s schedule as lunch or Quiet Time, so why should he? Today was different, though. He supposed it was mostly boredom with Holes. It was one of his favorite books but after having read it a dozen or so times, anything would start to get boring. He needed to find something else of interest and he supposed finding out who delivered the blue sheets was as good a thing as any.

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I would never have imagined just how dangerous a Tonka truck could be if I hadn’t witnessed one in action myself. It is of course a very highly respected mark in the lucrative business of children’s toys and its range of tip-trucks, tractors, bulldozers and numerous other hard-working machines are of an exceptional quality—none of that cheap plastic crap that breaks within the first hour of being used, even in the relative comfort of a soft sandpit. I can personally verify that this particular Tonka truck lived up to its reputation, it felt like it was made of cast iron and it was extremely tough.

Crack!

Another impact, yet the truck remained in mint condition.

How remarkable!

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One drop.

Two.

He tipped the vial back on the third.

“Done.”

He stood by the lake edge, smiled, got in his Ford Fairlane, and flipped on the radio.

He laughed when it began to blast “Who’s Sorry Now?”

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“Mary….”

I heard him calling for me, but I kept typing.

There was a pause, and then I heard the voice again, a low growl, coming from my boss’s office.

“Mary!”

“Yes?” Our office shared a common wall, and we often talked to each other this way. It was better than actually going into his office when he was already in a mood.

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