Little Boy Chief
by Jerry Vilhotti
The place where Danny Apache put the large stone down for his first rest would one day in the land of chads stand the storybook castle with all pseudo majestic splendor. He would tell many who were impressed with his last name which an official who could not spell due to being one of the children left behind by an education system that didn’t want thinking to get involved in a real thinking process would say he was relative to Red Cloud, Chief Joseph, Cochise, Crazy Horse, Sitting Bull – so being a real native American Jew who had been herded into concentration camps that the Nazis learned to do upon all kinds of “inferior” people God created deep furrows on their brows as to how that could be coming from their God’s omnipotent finger.
“Humpty Dumpty sat on a steep wall. Humpty Dumpty fell and broke his ding-dong and all the relatives and friends, big and small, could not put the pieces back together again.
Was that how the baby-sitter read it? Danny thought as he gazed in an area that would become the ruins of an Asian temple with a million Vietnamese and fifty-five thousand American soldiers adorning the grounds or floating in rivers of blood the color green.
“Gimmieyou. Gow by sonbtich! Gow hom! darty batch!” the words were coming from the mother tree damaged by a tractor that would be destroyed to become a steel and vinyl make believe one resembling a tree hut where the good family Robinson would taunt visitors by shouting down at them what Bridgeport Barnum had said about a vast harvest land making suckers.
“Change the story! Keep Humpty Dumpty in one piece. Don’t hurt him! Give back his ding-dong!” the three boys shouted at their baby-sitter.
Maureen Rosemary O’Shay O’Hara Sullivan laughed and then decided to get the quiet girl off to sleep by giving her a glass of warm milk and after placing her into her bed she went back to the parlor where the boys were still sitting on the floor.
Positioning herself just right; just above their little heads, she began rubbing herself gently between her legs. She winked at them.
They knew what it meant! It was broken ding-dong time!; tenderly, using her long nails like needles, she fondled out of their pajama slits three limp penises. she cleaned them off with a wash cloth before stuffing them into her mouth; trying to suck them to hardness before attempting to stuff them inside her.
Two year old Michael ran for the bathroom. Five year old Danny ran for the verandah overlooking the north-end of Burywater. Nine year old Larry attempted to move like his father when he spied his slowly divorcing parents in their bedroom ….
“Can’t keep it hard, Larry?” the baby-sitter taunted the oldest making him cry ….
Danny sat down in waters, surrounded by several orange groves, that would carry small boats full of people on a voyage to a make believe jungle. There he cried pieces of tears.