January 1986, Texas

Sheldon was a trying child on a good day. Though she'd never wish it, it was a relief whenever he got sick. His idiosyncrasies all but vanished, and he simply needed his mother there to take care of him and sing him Soft Kitty. It was normal, and Mary thanked the Good Lord for every ounce of normal that came her way where that boy was concerned.

While checking on her little Shelly one last time for the evening, she noticed the crude drawing left on his bedside table. There was a note scribbled in purple crayon at the bottom. It was the rare times like these that Mary remembered her Shelly was still just a little boy; her heart bloomed with warmth and affection.

Giving into curiosity she picked up the doodle- a rather violent depiction of what she assumed to be Cowboys and Indians- scanning down to the bottom of the page she read:

Dear Microbiological Invaders of my Sinuses,

I don't know where you are, and I don't know where you came from, but at this point in our acquaintanceship, you leave me little choice.

My leukocytes will find you, and they will kill you.


A/N: A nod to Taken. I distinctly remember being awfully congested when I wrote this. My own mother refused to sing me Soft Kitty over Skype. Devastating, truly.