The cry of a screaming child; wailing for food, for a drink, for some kind of relief from her utter torment. It's ceaseless. It drills deep inside my head. For you see I've had my fill today. Pancakes, lasagne, a few bottles of beer. And then I come face-to-face with this tortured young soul.
So I reach out...
... and I throw her as far across the bouncy castle as I can manage. Fucking spoilt brat 8-year-old overweight whingy slappy kicky brain-terrorist.
Just because her bowl of ice-cream wasn't still spilling over the rim and her third can of Fanta was emtpy.
Fucking hell.
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