Playing With Fire
Timmy looked up at his mother. She placed a cigarette between her lips and tried to light it with her lighter, but the wind kept blowing the flame out.
"The fire's pretty, mommy." He said in his small voice. "Why does it keep leaving?"
"The wind's eating it, honey." She said passively, finally lighting the cigarette. She put the lighter back in her purse and Timmy's small hand went after it.
"No." She said sternly, smacking his hand.
Timmy lowered his head, his black hair falling below his eyes.
"There he is!" His mother said, a smile gracing her face for the first time that morning. A tall, lanky man walked up to them and kissed her on the mouth. He shot a distracted smile at Timmy, then returned again to his girlfriend.
Every since Mommy started seeing him, Timmy didn't stand a chance. He never got any attention when he was around. It was like he didn't even exist. Here they were, sitting on the bench at the park while all the other kids were playing on the playground across the grass and he was stuck with them.
"Mommy, can I go play?" He asked.
"Sure, Timmy." She answered, not even taking her eyes off her date.
Timmy lowered himself from the bench and walked over to the playground. After about ten minutes, he grew bored and wandered to the alley behind the slide. He was by himself finally, alone with his thoughts and feelings of abandonment.
He turned around and looked back at the kids playing innocently. Most of them had fathers nearby, helping them up the jungle gym or pushing them on the swing. They all looked so happy. Timmy hadn't felt that way since Daddy had left. Now Mommy was bringing all these new men back to the house and Timmy didn't like any of them better than he liked Daddy.
Daddy was his hero and now he was gone, never to be seen again.
He looked down and began walking through the alleyway again. He kicked a rock and chased it to kick it again. He played this simple little game by himself for a while before he heard the music.
He picked his head up as an ice-cream truck drove into the alley.
Timmy smiled and ran up to the truck. He was delighted that it had stopped just for him.
"Hi!" Timmy said in his small voice.
"Hey, little boy." A voice said to him. Timmy couldn't see the owner of the voice. The ice-cream truck was so dark on the inside.
"You want some ice-cream?" The deep voice asked.
"Yea!" Timmy said through his smile. He reached in his pocket and looked down at the pavement once again. "I need to get some money from Mommy. I don't have any."
"Don't worry about it, kid. It's a slow day and you're my first customer. You can pick out anything you want and I'll give it to you for free."
"Wow! Thanks! What kind of ice-cream do you have?" The small child asked.
"Well, why don't you come on in here and check the freezer?"
Timmy stopped a moment and thought about it. Mommy didn't want him talking to strangers, but what was the harm in getting some ice-cream? Besides, Mommy wasn't here. Even if she was, she would probably be too busy to notice him.
With that thought, he climbed into the truck and noticed a flickering light. He turned his head to the driver's seat of the truck and his mouth fell open.
The driver was sitting with his back to the kid, but the fire on his head was clearly visible.
"Cool!" Timmy said loudly. The driver turned around.
The sight of the ice-cream man's face was almost as cool as the fire on his head. He was a clown! Timmy loved clowns. He also loved fire. Mommy never let him play with fire, but now here it was, right in front of him. And he was sure the clown was nicer than Mommy had ever been.
"Thanks, kid. Most people are scared by it." The clown said through the smile of his mask.
"No, it's really cool. It's not scary. I like fire. And clowns are the coolest things ever!" Timmy struggled to form sentences through his excitement.
"Thanks." The clown said again.
"How come the wind doesn't eat your fire?" He inquired.
"Nothing can eat this fire, kid."
"What's your name?" The kid asked. "I'm Timmy."
"Call me Sweet Tooth, Timmy." Sweet Tooth answered.
He turned from the kid and ran his finger over the blade of the knife he held in his hand. He smiled beneath his mask in thoughts of ruining the innocent child standing in his truck.
He laughed.
"You laugh like my Daddy." Timmy said with a grin.
"Where is your dad, Timmy?" Sweet Tooth asked, turning his head to the child. The thought of the kid's father coming in made him happier. The prospect of killing two was always sweeter than killing one.
"Daddy's dead, Mr. Sweet Tooth."
"Oh…" The clown's head fell once again.
"Can I play with your fire, Mr. Sweet Tooth?" The dark-haired child asked.
"Sure thing, kid. Come on over."
Timmy extended his hand as he approached the clown. Just as he felt the heat from the fire dance on his fingertips, Sweet Tooth turned around and grabbed his wrist.
His beloved knife found a home.
Sweet Tooth was happy. He satisfied the bloodlust that he could never seem to fully extinguish.
Timmy was happy too.
He finally got to see Daddy again.