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Squigglies
by Michael A. Kechula

Billy vomited green gunk.

“What’s wrong, Billy?”

“I got morning sickness, Mom.”

“That’s silly. Boys don’t get that.”

“Yes they do.”

“Says who?”

“The little purple ladies from the flying saucer.”

“Dammit! You’re making up weird stories again. You’re grounded for lying!”

“I ain’t lying. They shot little squigglies into my stomach with a ray gun.”

She worried that her eight year old might be schizophrenic. As she was about to call a psychiatrist, an inner voice said, “He’s not schizophrenic. Rejoice! Your son will soon give birth to a most magnificent species. His spawn will dominate Earth and reign in glory forever.”

She didn’t understand why Loch Ness Monster came to mind.

“I’m too young to be a grandma,” she muttered when Billy vomited again.