The Butter Thief

    “It all started with butter,” she told the man. “I was very young when this all began. I was but two years of age. I was the first grandchild on my father’s side. As such, I was treated like a porcelain doll. I was a rather smart child, you know. I could see that what baby wanted, baby got, one way or the other. I was manipulative, even in the age of innocence. I pushed the limits further than most would even dream of doing! Oh, I was living life to perfection. But before I perfected my methods, my life, I had to realize I had it in me to do such rash, conniving things.
    “Butter was my favorite thing as a little girl. It was so creamy and scrumptious. I would eat it plain if I could. I would lick it off of my toast, or scrape it off of my potatoes. One day I had a delightful idea. I would just sneak into the dining room, and snatch the whole cube of butter of the table! It took me a few tries, but in the end, I was successful. Five or so minutes later, from a hiding spot in the living room, I heard some confusion coming from the dining room. My parents were flabbergasted.

Where did the butter go? Mommy dearest asked.

As if I would know. You know that I’m lactose intolerant! Father exclaimed.

Then there was silence. I knew they had figured it out. So, like any intelligent child would do, I crawled out of my secret spot, sat down on a miniature chair, wiped some of the butter around my face, and put on a giant smile.

Oh, how adorable! Mother cooed.

She’s definitely your daughter, Dad laughed.

“I repeated the incident at different establishments. No one suspected that I was capable of planning such a thing! No, see, I was the good, absolutely adorable, little girl. That was the trick. I didn’t look like a mastermind. No one knew of my devious  ways. I was about seven before my parents realized what I had been doing. That I had manipulated them throughout childhood. After that, they became a lot more intelligent about my games. I was watched closely, yet they never knew that they were wrapped around my finger. My every whim was their delight. Sadly, everything must come to an end. When I left for college, an ex boyfriend of mine informed my parents of my ways. We have rarely talked to each other since. And now, Mr. Holloway, I must inform you that you too have an end. Goodbye, Mr. Holloway,” she said.

“No, wait!” he cried out. “Plea-”

She pulled the trigger. “The end.”

Joe