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It’s not going to hurt, right?
It better not.
Why are his legs shaking?
Mom said it won’t hurt, he should trust her… right?
What if she’s lying, like when she pulls his loose teeth out and says it won’t hurt?
No… she wouldn’t.
Right?
A billion questions crashed down on little four year old Norman’s mind, who was just… terrified. Each year, they would have to get their finger pricked to test for cholesterol as soon as they turned four. He’s scared. He could hear his siblings crying in the other room with their soft tiny sobs. Maybe he should run. Think of an excuse. Yeah, that sounds good.
He felt someone’s tiny warm hand clasp his own, snapping him out of the terrifying freight train that was Norman’s mind. “Emma?”
“No. Ray. Of course it’s me!” Emma exclaimed with her loud, cheerful voice. She was holding someone else’s hand in her free one, and when Norman looked closer, he would see the other person’s fingers pinching Emma’s skin, she didn’t seem to notice. “It’s gonna be okay- OW!” Now she noticed.
“Let go of my hand,” the moody voice that a four year old Ray possessed and will stay with him grumbled. But in actuality, he was the one holding Emma’s hand. He knows he shouldn’t be scared of something like this, but can you blame him? He’s never been hurt physically before, and he has a lot of things to worry about like his siblings getting shipped out and how it’s hurting him deep down, but as of right now, he’s going to bleed.
Well, not right now.
Soon.
A low and pathetic whimper escaped a tiny frail Norman’s lips as he looked down at the ground, both boys clutching Emma’s hands like she’s their life line. “Are you guys scared?” he asked weakly, gulping. This is by far the scariest moment of his life. His future self would be embarrassed or ashamed at this memory, but this is baby Norman, and baby Norman is scared of baby things.
Ray looked the other way, almost as if he’s afraid to admit it, and Emma just simply nodded, a hum escaping her lips. “Yeah! But Mom said it won’t hurt so I trust her!” she remarked, her big green eyes bearing into Norman’s soul that made him feel like an utter wimp because Emma isn’t terrified.
“You’re so brave.”
“You’re so naïve.”
Two completely different comments from the two boys, but both said it with a small smile; one filled with warmth and the other filled with something that resembled mockery.
“Norman,” Mom’s soothing voice rang down the hall, as if it was comforting, and inviting. Home. But her calling for him meant one thing: it’s his turn for suffering and pain now.
Dread and fear filled his tiny body; and before he knew it, Mom was right in front of him, her arms wrapping around his small waist and picking him up, carrying him off to the place where he would be pricked. She whispered sweet words in his little ear, assuring him that getting his finger pricked will not hurt as his body trembled within her grasp. Walking in the room, she gently closed the door behind her, leaving Emma and Ray, whose jaws were dropped, in the hallway.
Alone.
And Norman is terrified as he saw how ‘big’ that needle was. He let out a low whimper as he stuck out his finger for Mom to take and prick; every fiber of his being screaming at him to run away as the soon to be pain was being drilled into his mind.
When it makes contact with his skin-
“Norman….” Emma muttered, trailing off as the sound of the door closing reached her ears. She squeezed Ray’s hand as a look of concern flashed across her face because Norman looked like he was about to just drop dead as soon as Mom came and took him. Her green eyes were wide before she let out a sigh. “He’ll be okay! Mom loves us! She’d never do anything to hurt us. See, Ray?” As she turned around to see her friend, she was met with the pale ghost like expression that said kid bore. “Ray?!”
Before Ray could open his mouth to speak, the sounds of wailing and high pitched screaming and sobs reached their ears. Both children stopped, it was as if time came to a halt. Utterly terrified as the two immediately thought of the worse, and curiosity began to take over their mind as well as the creative imagination that a four year old would have. The wails and sobs continued until they came to an abrupt stop. Silence filling the air.
The horrified expressions each of the kids had was Oscar award winning worthy.
“...Is he dead?” That came out in a quiet whisper and somewhat of a whimper from Emma, before she let out a sigh and then a tiny laugh. Mom would never kill them, she loves them too much and you don’t kill people you love! Norman probably cried himself to sleep, or something. But then… Why did the cries stop so suddenly? Why was no sound coming from the room?
Unlike Emma, who was quickly assured that her Mom would never do such a thing like killing one of them, Ray reacted differently to the possibility. Instead of assurance, there was fear. The very idea that Norman was dead made all logic go out of Ray’s tiny four year old mind. It was possible, she could have; did he know? No way. It’s not true, he’s not dead- tears soon sprung out of his eyes, sorrow and anguish filling him at the thought of Norman dying and him not being able to do anything; catching him completely off guard but he couldn’t control his fragile emotions right now.
And the situation escalated from there.
Because Emma is a sympathy crier.
Turning her head, she saw that Ray was quietly crying as crystal tears fell out of his eyes and down his cheeks, choking back a sob as his lip quivered. Emma’s eyes widened; her small arms wrapping around her friend’s neck and burying his head in her chest as she burst out into loud wails; screaming at the top of her lungs as tears flew out of her eyes. And Ray’s crying got louder, now embarrassed that he was being held by Emma and clinging to her like his life line again, and the fact that Norman died from a finger prick by Mom.
The wails and sobbing echoed throughout the entire house; one screaming, crying, and wailing, the other just sobbing defeatedly.
The wails reached Isabella’s ears as she swung the door open and went running out; wondering what the actual heck could have happened to make the children cry. She soon found a shocking sight of Emma holding Ray, screaming, and said boy crying. Why were they crying? Did they see something that scared them? Were they both that afraid of the idea of getting their finger pricked? Did they miss Norman that much? “What’s wrong?” she asked soothingly, standing in front of them and kneeling down.
Ray’s crying grew louder at the sound of her voice while Emma’s seemed to quiet down.
“No-Nor-Norman’s d-d-d-d-d-d-dead!” she wailed out, sniffling as snot built up in her nose, Isabella winced as Emma sucked her boogers back in like all four year old’s did. Not seeming to know that tissues existed for a purpose.
A small smile graced Isabella’s lips as she touched Emma’s face and rubbed her cheek with her thumb. “Norman’s not dead.”
“Yes he is.” Ray’s voice was muffled due to Emma’s harsh and tight grip on his neck because she seemed to think that if she held on to her one friend tighter, her other one would come back out of feeling left out.
“Come,” standing up, Isabella held out her two hands for Emma and Ray to take. Both children slipped their tiny hands into hers, their cheeks stained with tears and Emma’s shirt drenched from Ray’s crying. There was a tiny puddle from where they were standing on the floor due to their water works as they mourned the ‘loss’ of their friend.
Isabella led them in the room, the pair’s eyes widening as they saw Norman, sitting in a chair sniffling with a tiny bandaid on his finger. His eyes were glassy and filled with tears but he was trying to be a soldier and not cry as much. His expression was solemn and his feet were dangling from the chair. His blue eyes were filled with excitement as he saw his two friends with expressions of shock and relief.
“Norman!” Ray and Emma shouted with glee in unison, both running over to him as fast as their little legs could carry them.
“You came back!” Emma exclaimed with relief as Ray was sniffling in all his boogers in from crying which caused Isabella to wince.
“You’re not dead,” Ray breathed out, his shoulders slumping down as he held Norman’s hand, squeezing it; he’d be ashamed and embarrassed later at the fact that he’s holding his friend’s hand like this, but right now, he’s glad Norman isn’t dead.
Whereas their looks were full of happiness and relief, Norman’s was filled with utter confusion. “I never died,” he stated simply, blinking rapidly as he hopped off the chair, standing in front of Emma and Ray; still holding the dark haired boy’s hand because god his grip is tight for a four year old. “I’m okay!”
“B-but we heard you cry and then you stopped,” Emma explained, her green eyes now matching Norman’s confusion.
Shaking his head, a sheepish look came across the white haired boy’s face. “I was scared. But it didn’t hurt so that’s why I stopped crying,” he muttered as his cheeks burned red from embarrassment.
Ray and Emma both blinked, their expressions mirroring one another’s. “Oh,” they both said, having been talking in unison a lot in the past few moments.
“Now that you guys are here, you two need your fingers pricked,” Isabella suddenly spoke up, picking up the strange looking needle, turning to look at said kids who gulped. Emma’s expression was filled with anxiety, and Ray’s read a ‘touch me and I’ll bite you’ look. Obviously, Isabella didn’t feel sympathy for the orange haired girl, and she didn’t feel threatened by Ray, either.
And Norman passed out, because he thought he was going to get another finger prick; and he’s a frail boy.