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Writer's pictureArthur Mills

The Bedtime Battle: How I Turned Toenails into Weapons

The Bedtime Battle: How I Turned Toenails into Weapons

November 18, 2023


People often inquire about a peculiar scene in The Empty Lot Next Door of how I transformed my innocent toenails into jagged weapons, all to thwart my brother Ricky’s relentless sheet-stealing antics. To those inquiries, I affirmatively respond with a vivid account of this audacious act.


At the tender ages of around four and five, Ricky and I shared a rather disagreeable resting place – a pullout couch that offered little respite. Ricky’s mischievous habit of snatching the coveted sheets further exacerbated this uncomfortable arrangement. His pilfering was far from discreet, for he lacked the patience to wait until I fell asleep. Instead, he brazenly yanked the sheets from my body, enveloping himself in victory. This ceaseless skirmish persisted for weeks until my determination to assert myself (a recurring theme in The Empty Lot Next Door) reached its zenith, compelling me to employ my mother’s trusty toenail clippers.


On a fateful night, my eagerness to enact my daring plan led me to retire to bed early. Undeterred by the impending showdown, Ricky leaped onto the bed and lunged for the coveted sheets. Just as he pulled the sheets from my body, I unleashed a powerful kick aimed at his upper right thigh. Now sculpted into jagged saws, my toes found their mark, plunging deeply into his flesh with unrelenting force. The result was a gruesome gash that stretched nearly a foot in length, a gruesome display of blood splattering across the sheets and bed. At that moment, the bed bore witness to a scene reminiscent of a heinous crime.


As one would expect, Ricky’s response was an inharmonious chorus of agonized screams while I, wearing a grin as wide as the Cheshire Cat’s, stared back at him, triumphant in my defense of territory. Within mere heartbeats, the thunderous arrival of our father, summoned by the chaos, disrupted the unsettling scene. He was greeted by the grotesque scene of gore that had overtaken the room. Swiftly and decisively, our father administered a stern punishment by way of a resounding spanking, rendering my butt as red as the sheets that had borne witness to my triumph.


Yet, in the wake of this punishment, I didn’t care. For on that night, amid the chaos, I emerged victorious. Ricky never stole the sheets again.

 

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