The culprit behind my liberty is an orange crayon.
I will never forget changing that last shitty diaper and seeing those orange flakes of brightness amidst liquid brown.
Are those carrots?
Damn.
It was the crayon he had had for breakfast that morning.
"Petra, um [...]"
Then, I proceeded to tell her that while I was playing a card game with the other children, Thys had apparently been walking around eating a crayon.
"Well, where is it?!" she demanded. "WE HAVE TO KNOW HOW MUCH HE ATE!"
"I... don't know. The box says 'non-toxic'."
