Awhile back a friend of mine, working for a magazine, asked if i wanted to write some short, 250 words or so flash fiction piece- Christmas themed for some feature thing.
I sent her this. For some odd reason she found it inappropriate.
A long explanation
“Lizzy, come on, go hunt for your presents!” I said, with all the tired confidence a father could muster. I had stayed up all night, not a single cookie to keep me company, wrapping all the fucking presents. The living room was filled with tinsel and relatives; Uncle Marvin on the piano playing carols, all of us too polite to point out his mistakes; Mother on the couch, falling asleep; and my little princess, my little Lizzy, all dressed up in her perfectly pink dress, scuffing her knees on the living room floor while she foraged for presents.
Mary, my wife was there as well, our hands clasped in a death grip. We’d been fighting again, over sex again. Lizzy returned from the tree with a purple box the size and shape of my forearm. I don’t quite remember that one- must be from Mary. Then she starts tearing up the wrapping, when I remember- oh shit – not from, but for Mary. I’d written: To My Little Baby on it. Big mistake. Before I can stop her she’s taken it out. It’s made of some new, purple, hygienic plastic and covered all over in little studs. She looks at it quizzically before pressing the switch on the bottom. And I’d asked specially that they include batteries.
It sounds like a loud electric shaver. I notice how Lizzy’s little fingers barely fit all the way around it. She thinks it’s a jet fighter, a toy. Starts flying it around the room. Someone yells “Jesus”. Then right before I can pry it from her Uncle Marvin cries: “DON’T LET HER PUT IT IN HER MOUTH!”