Hot Lava

by Cara Mack © 2001

My brother, Chris, and I were anxious to play our game. It had become a tradition. We got home from school, ate a snack (today it was apples and caramel-my favorite), told mom about school and raced to our basement, ready for another game of Hot Lava.

One couch was old, but still had just enough bounce to play. The moth ball smell had finally aired out. The other couch was older and had an ivory arm rest and hard cushions. We devised a system for who got to start on the yucky couch. Today was my day. I often said I didn't feel like playing when it was my day to be on the bad one.

Today was different. At recess, the girls stole the boys' playground ball three times! I was pumped.

Chris and I ran to the basement and stood on our couches.

"The alligators and crocodiles look hungry, Chris," I pointed to the burning, bubbling lava and laughed my most evil laugh.

"They're hungry for girls. Not boys!" he said. I smiled at his immaturity. He had a lot to learn. I corrected him.

"Alligators and crocodiles only eat little boys because they like smelly things,"he glared at me and I dove forward onto his couch.

I picked up a pillow and began to hit him. I screamed,"Watched out for the lava! It's bubbling! It'll melt your skin!"

He put up a good fight, but he was no match for a third grader. I pushed him off the couch and as he fell into the lava, I watched his skin peel off of his bones. They smoked as they dissolved into the boiling lava. His eyeballs somehow stared at me before they floated off and melted.

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