Toys Are Expensive

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Historical Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Just  a little bit more, thought the boy, as he inched further to the right, straining to keep the store in sight.

The store.

He watched as parent after parent walked out, holding large bulging bags in their hands. The poor couldn't help but stare.

Heaps upon heaps of all the toys a child could even dream of, sorted and viewed in behind the glass front of the store.

And yet he had to stand outside, waiting.

Submitted: May 24, 2014

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Submitted: May 24, 2014

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Just  a little bit more, thought the boy, as he inched further to the right, straining to keep the store in sight.

The store.

He watched as parent after parent walked out, holding large bulging bags in their hands. The poor couldn't help but stare.

Heaps upon heaps of all the toys a child could even dream of, sorted and viewed in behind the glass front of the store.

And yet he had to stand outside, waiting.

Just then, he spotted his parents inside, looking to out-of-place in there. The family had to scrip and scrape for months to be able to afford it. Toys were expensive after all.

He jumped excitedly as his parents neared the cashier, his mother carrying the toy he had been asking for since ages.

A few minutes later, his parents came out of the shop, their tired eyes smiling. It has been a while since that happened, and it made him even happier.

They were just about to cross the road to the upbeat car they owned, just about to reach their son. His mother's mouth was already opened, words forming on her lips. But the boy will never know what she was saying.

A big blast of blinding light and blaring heart erupted from behind them, leavening static in the ears of the spectators.

I stood there, next to the car, staring. There wouldn't be a happy family gathering that night, not somewhere I could watch, anyway.

The suicide bomber lied there on the floor, blood oozing out of every inch of his now mangled body.

And just like that, it was over.

The police arrived and the whole matter was wrapped up.

No one mourned the family's death.

I doubt anyone knew the story behind the little stuffed  toy I had picked up, now held tightly in my arms.

My first and only teddy bear.


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