Monster Kid's room painted the perfect picture of its occupier; messy and carefree. Posters hung off every square inch of wall. How he was able to put them up himself, the world may never know.

As for the kid himself, teeth marks were still fresh in his bedsheets. Even to bed, he still wore that red neckerchief inspired by his hero.

He snorted before rolling to the other side.


The lines of sunshine breaking through his curtains hurt his eyes. Time to get up. He pushed the cover off, stretched the tiredness out, and realised…

"Woohoo!"

The door slammed open so hard that it nearly broke off the hinges. Monster Kid literally skidded out on his knees, holding above his head the reason for his cheer.

"I have arms," he announced, a massive smile on his face. He checked them out: a pair of thin arms with elbows and wrists, and three claws and a thumb on each one. He twiddled his newly-formed digits, getting a feel for them. "I can finally do this!" He used them to scratch his head, pick his nose and poke one of his eyes. Painful but liberating.

His smile felt perpetual, like it was drawn on in permanent marker. For that one day, he would never stop smiling. Just like his hero.

MK turned and rushed back into his room, cheering all the way. "I can dress myself much faster now!"

One minute later, he stumbled back out and bumped into a wall, knocking down a frame picture. His arms were trapped under one of his many shirts like it was a straitjacket.

"If only I had clothes with sleeves…" He forced his hands down and pulled his shirt up and over his shoulders until he had a second neckerchief. "Whatever, I can ask Mom to buy some."

With his belly exposed, he dashed down the hall and into the kitchen, where breakfast lavished the red and white chequered table; his favourite cereal and unopened milk, golden brown toast laden thick with butter, crispy bacon and eggs on toasted muffins, and a smooth glass of orange juice.

"I can use a knife and fork now. And spoons," he said as he approached. His fingers wiggled at the sight of the morning feast. "No more chomping off the plate."

He took a bowl and then the box of cereal: Choco-lots. It took him a solid two minutes of digging at the cardboard seal to get it open, then he misjudged the amount of strength needed to open the plastic, sending a shower of chocolaty grains across the room, on the floor, on the table, into the orange juice and some of it went in the bowl, at least. Next came the milk, after fumbling with the top, he poured it into the bowl, missing at first and then overfilling it over the brim.

"Guess I'm no expert in judging strength and trajectory yet."

Monster Kid reached across the table, knocked over the glass of juice over the bacon and eggs – mixing orange with white – and grabbed his instrument of choice: a butter knife. He dipped the blunt blade into the bowl and fished out a few drops of milk and one piece of cereal that slipped straight off. Further attempts proved futile.

"Or in proper table etiquette…"

The flash of sunshine from outside the window pulled him toward the field of green grass and brown bark outside. The kid abandoned the ruined table and headed out the nearest door, forgetting he had hands and slamming against it. The second attempt reward him with fresh air and the smell of freshly cut lawn.

He didn't remember having a garden so expansive, especially one which stretched toward the horizon. Nearest to him was a tree; a large ash tree with ladders of leafy fingers. The lowest branch was just within reach.

"Oh, man. I've always wanted to climb trees."

After stepping onto a conveniently-placed stool, Monster Kid leapt up to the branch, grabbed it and hung with arms outstretched; limp like a fish caught on a line. The crushing weight of the world pulled him down, dragging his inners down with it. He was unable to bend his limbs in the slightest. His feet kicked madly, unable to reach the ground. A sharp sting of what he could guess was a splinter attacked his little finger, adding to the agony in his straining muscles.

"Shame about… the lack of…" He began to slip. "Upper body strength… though."

Letting go only made him crash face-first to the ground. And here he thought having arms would alleviate that problem.

After brushing himself off, Monster Kid reckoned that perhaps a more level game would be more his speed. There was a swing ball set. A five foot pole with a ball hanging off by a string.

Using the paddle, he gave the yellow tennis ball a pat which sent it spiralling lazily around the base. As it completed its first revolution, he swung into its trajectory and missed completely. On the second attempt, he missed also.

"Hand-eye coordination?" MK let out a big laugh. "Who needs it?"

On the third try, he lunged forward and swung with all his might, actually hitting it and sending it spinning around in a wide arc. He stood staring straight ahead, having lost it until it smacked him in the back of the head.

Bruised and battered, Monster Kid entered his home through the door he came out of. Upon returning to the kitchen, the table had been cleaned; one would never know of the disaster that was eating breakfast with hands for the first time. However, now there were piles upon piles of dirty, grubby plates, bowels, cups, glasses and cutlery beside the sink – full of warm, soapy water.

"MK, honey," Monster Mom called from the other room, "could you wash the dishes, please?"

"But, Mom," Monster Kid responded, "you know I can't do that. I don't have any han – oh, wait, I guess I do now." He huffed. "Oh, well…"

He dragged his bare feet over to the sink, picked up the first plate and went to work on it with a sponge. Such stubborn stains, he mad to scrub twice as hard, putting his barely existent muscles under incredible stress.

"Oh, and when you're done with that," Mom continued (still existing merely as a voice from behind a wall), "you can take out the trash, vacuum the carpet, dust out the corners, clear out the cobwebs, clean the kitchen tops, pat the rug out, clean the bath, wash the windows, peg the clothes on the line, mow the lawn—" Her words became a passing shadow as the kitchen tops grew a layer of grime, and the floors trailed mud from invisible feet, and the blades of green grew long enough to obscure the window and blot out the sun.

Monster Kid finished with the first plate. As he moved on to the second, he did not realise that he still wore the same smile from when he awoke. It was tattooed on. It persisted when he made a disaster out of breakfast. It left an indentation when he face planted. It never faltered with every missed swing.

So many chores to do, and now he could do all of them. Because he had hands.

He couldn't frown on such an occasion. He was so happy.


Back to the reality of a soft bed with the cover off, a child with his pyjama top budged up to his neck had his legs in the air as he cleaned imaginary dishes with his feet. Right foot pinched another between his toes and left foot waved over thin air for a few seconds.

From between closed eyelids, a single tear was shed.