Revenge of the Topical Zit
Squeezing a pimple. Friday night.
The boy draws his face closer to the mirror, squeezing, pressing. A soft semblance of posterity. He is staying home tonight, like he did last last night and the night before. The pimple coaxes him to press even harder.
“Come on, squeeze” the naughty pimple cried out. “Squeeze harder”
The boy cried out in fury. “Stop it!!” tears welled in his eyes. The pimple was never going away.
Knocking down the banister, the boy’s fate was sealed. Saturday was coming. He would be free.