Little Rocket

Revised from "Mommy or Daddy".

When the man woke up Betsy, she just wanted to go back to sleep to remember the sweet dream he interrupted.  But he pulled her out of it, dragged her by the wrist, out of bed and down the hallway.  He sat her in a chair, then left for her parent’s room.  He came out with the two helpless victims, a gun pointed to her mother’s back.

“What’s your name, little girl?” he hissed out of his rotted teeth, as he threw the half-naked adults on the couch opposite her chair.

“Betsy!” she said.  She was delighted that the killer wasn’t as cold and inhuman as she thought killers were.  They usually had no time for names.

“Betsy,” he repeated, with a short giggle and a snort.  He pulled back the slide above the gun’s barrel - loaded - and asked, “And how old are you?”

“Six.”

“Don’t hurt her,” her mother cried.

The man laughed.  “I’m not here to hurt her,” he said.  “I’m here to play.  You see, I may kill, but I don’t pick who dies, I don’t play God.  That’s why I’m leaving it up to little Betsy here.”

He aimed the gun back and forth before continuing: “It’s become sport, to find out you can never love the same, to go out and see who people pick when they claim to love others equally.  Think of it this way: the world’s set to blow, and you got yourself a little rocket.  Fits two.  So who do you pick?  Your dad?  Mom?  Your kid?  Brother?  Sister?  A love?  Toughest question of all, and yet, you have to pick one, because it’s better than leaving them all to die.”

He looked back and forth between Betsy and the adults on the couch, smiling, like the game he was playing was just a Saturday night board game.  He cleared his throat.

“Betsy,” he said, raising his gun towards the couch.  “World’s set to blow.  Five minutes.  I got you a rocket, and now you’re gonna pick who climbs aboard the S. S. Betsy.”  He laughed.  “Who’s it gonna be?  Mommy or Daddy?”

“Mommy,” she said.

But this brought confusion to the man, who lowered his gun and asked: “Are you sure you don’t need a little more time to think about this?  We just started.”

“No, sir,” she confirmed.

“Well, why her?”

“‘Cause Daddy’s on vacation!” Betsy replied.  “That’s Daddy’s friend, Steve!”

The man threw his hands up in the air.

“You’re a dick, Steve,” he snarled, walking out the door.  “You always have to make things so complicated.”