It seemed like an innocent purchase. Mark Warren hustled to the quick check out line of the Super Wal-Mart with a gallon of milk, a package of cost cutter weenies, a can of ranch style beans, Downy Paper Towels and two boxes of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. He was running late and had a pregnant wife and a hyperactive three year-old waiting for him back at home.
He spotted the usual assortment of candies on a nearby rack and grabbed a package of M&M's as a peace offering to his daughter. He'd left Sarah at home in an effort to expedite the shopping process and predictably she'd cried. Sarah loved a trip to Wal-Mart because it usually included a visit to the toy aisle and a purchase of another Barbie to add to her vast collection at home.
The sign above the register read TEN ITEMS OR LESS and he quickly counted that his items numbered seven. The sloppy bastard in front of him had a cart filled with at least fifteen items.
"Calm down," Mark told himself. "A six-pack of Miller-Lite only counts as one item."
Mark felt claustrophobic and slightly panicked; surrounded by a throng of strangers and spotlighted beneath the harsh flickering lights. Like an oblivious cow shuffling down a narrow pen leading to a man holding a sledgehammer. The sharp smell of bleach rose from the floors and somewhere a child was screaming, "It isn't fair!" over and over again.
"No," he thought. "It isn't."
Mark placed the items behind a plastic divider and waiting for his turn he studied the brown package of M&M's. On the package was a cartoonish drawing of a hip, red M&M wearing dark shades and sneakers. It seemed to be consoling the green M&M who looked appropriately frightened at the prospect of being eaten alive.
Mark wondered what ad executive had come up with the bright idea of personifying a food item. Who the hell wants to think of an M&M as having a mind or feelings? Then he recalled a McDonalds commercial in which chicken nuggets sang a happy song while a hungry child chewed them into non-existence. Sick shit. Finally, the checker offered him an obligatory "Hello" and began to scan his items.
…
"You have to eat your hot dog and some more macaroni and cheese before you get the M&M's," Darlene said.
"Do I Daddy?" Sarah stared at Mark with an almost hypnotic smile on her face; however, he was smart enough to know that contradicting his wife would only result in a serious ass chewing.
"You have to do what your mommy said, sweetheart."
Sarah reached down, pinched off a bit of noodle and forced it into her mouth with a frown. She stared at the hot dog for a moment then buried it beneath her plastic plate.
Her high chair was smeared with crushed macaroni and cheese, a shredded hot dog bun, and rust colored juice from the ranch style beans. She'd eaten all of her beans first since those were her favorites. Mark couldn't blame her for avoiding the hot dog. It tasted awful. He made a mental note not to go cheap on the weenies next time. He feared in this instance the urban myth about weenies being made out of lips and assholes might in fact be true.
"All done, Daddy," Sarah said sweetly.
Mark walked up to the high chair and inspected her plate with a serious look on his face. He reached down and gently rubbed her precious, protruding belly. "I feel some macaroni and cheese in here and some milk and lots of beans and a hot dog. Are you sure there's room for dessert?"
His daughter enthusiastically nodded. Darlene stared at him with a mingled expression of affection and admonishment. It was her trademark look and Mark thought most likely it also signified the way she felt about him. She loved him and looked down upon him at the same time and in equal measure.
Mark walked into the kitchen and picked up the bag of M&M's resting on the cold counter. He ripped open the top of the package, strolled into the dining room, and handed the treat to his smiling daughter. She proceeded to stuff the multi-colored candies into her mouth.
His wife frowned. "Mark, she didn't even touch her dinner."
Mark tried to formulate a convincing retort. His internal monologue was interrupted by the sudden sound of gagging. He turned to Sarah and could tell by her shocked expression and the rising color in her face that she couldn't breathe. She was choking on the M&M's.
He jerked her out of the high chair and placed his left hand underneath her sternum. He firmly struck her back with his right hand, utilizing the baby Heimlich maneuver. His wife screeched at him to be careful with her baby. He tuned out her negativity and concentrated on the job at hand. With the third palm strike, which he delivered with a soft intensity, approximately half a dozen M&M's and a chocolate froth shot out of her mouth.
Sarah took a deep breath and cried.
Darlene jerked Sarah of his arms and as she comforted their daughter she appraised Mark with a look one would usually reserve for Charles Manson or an IRS agent. Mark slowly walked out of the kitchen. He wouldn't allow his wife to see the tears in his eyes.
…
The obnoxious beeping of the alarm woke Mark out of a deep sleep. He reached for the snooze button. "Don't you hit that snooze," his wife said. "Get your ass up." She rolled over on her side and pulled the covers up to her ears. She slept with a pillow tucked between her legs and another underneath her growing belly. Mark rose out of the bed and quietly dressed.
Their poodle, Poozie, was waiting for him in the kitchen. Mark immediately sensed something was amiss. Poozie was acting skittish, as if she'd gotten into the trash can or had taken a shit on the carpet. He quickly peeked into each room in order to access the damage. In the dining room, he found a chocolate smear on the tiled floor and a few scattered M&M's. Poozie had somehow climbed up into the highchair and pillaged the bag of M&M's. Mark picked up the bag and estimated less than a third of the candy remained inside. He watched the poodle sulkily appraise him from a distance, unsure of his reaction to her deed.
"It's okay, girl." He walked over, reached down, and patted her on the head.
He took the evil bag of M&M's and placed it out of reach on the kitchen counter, then cleaned the stained floor with a paper towel. He'd heard somewhere dogs were allergic to chocolate and sometimes it could even kill them. He doubted it still he didn't want to give his wife any ammunition against him. As far as she knew the candy had been on the kitchen counter all along. There certainly is such a thing as a good lie.
That night Mark fell asleep with the echoes of a shitty day whispering in his ear. His boss at work had chewed his ass out for a miscalculation on the expense estimate and his boss at home had chewed his ass out for forgetting to take out the trash. It was one of those restless beginnings to a night filled with nightmares. It pained him that even his sleep was haunted by the same demons which defined his dreary existence.
In his dream he was chewing M&M's and with each bite, he felt his teeth cracking. Despite this terrifying result, he was helpless to resist the chocolaty goodness. He greedily shoveled the M&M's into his mouth from a bag seemingly containing an endless quantity. The M&M's soon filled his mouth and protruded his cheeks like a frantic squirrel gathering acorns.
A frothy mixture of saliva, chocolate, and his blood poured down his chin. He realized some of his teeth had broken free from his gums and were hidden within the mass of tasty M&M's. Each time he bit down upon an unyielding tooth he reached within the shifting, sugary mass and picked out the offending piece of bone. Soon he'd removed every tooth in his mouth and gummed the candy like a stubborn old man. He began to cry as he suddenly realized his entire life had been wasted.
…
"Mark, wake up!"
He opened his eyes and shrugged off the painful images. His wife was sitting up in the bed and seemed frightened. He could hear Poozie's frantic yipping coming from the other side of the house. His wife asked, "What if someone broke in?"
He entertained the notion for a few seconds and then remembered Poozie had eaten the chocolate the previous day. She was probably just feeling sick or was having an allergic fit. Of course, he couldn't tell his wife that. "Okay honey, I'll go check it out."
He rose from the bed and stealthily moved towards the door.
"Take the gun you idiot!" His wife managed to loudly hiss the command while maintaining a whisper. She was very talented. He quietly opened the closet door and reached into a box resting on the top shelf. He pulled out a Smith and Wesson .44 Magnum. The gun felt cold in his hand and made him nervous despite the certification he'd earned through a safety training class.
Poozie stopped barking.
The door creaked as he opened it and he turned to see his wife staring at him disdainfully. He crept into the hallway and slowly moved towards the kitchen. He wondered if the dog had been poisoned by the candy and was dead.
He heard a crunch.
It had come from the kitchen.
He froze and listened.
Again, he heard a crunching sound. Softly he moved across the dining room and hugged the wall as he approached the open entryway to the kitchen. Crunch. Crunch. He was almost positive Poozie had somehow climbed onto the kitchen counter and was finishing off the M&M's.
He was almost positive.
There was another possibility as well. It was this possibility that prompted him to quickly move into the kitchen with his arms extended and the gun pointed in front of him.
A small, freckled man with ginger hair, dressed in an Oakland Raiders jacket, stood in front of the sink holding the brown bag of M&M's. He seemed to be either very drunk or high on drugs, but he was sober enough to realize he was fucked. He sat the bag back down upon the counter and raised his hands toward the sky. "Yo bro, don't come in . . ."
Mark squeezed the trigger three times in rapid succession. The noise was deafening and what followed was an uncompromising silence that was interrupted a moment later by his wife's shrill scream and then his daughter crying for her daddy.
He stared down at the fallen burglar and noticed the blood pouring out from beneath him. His jacket now had three holes that were small in the front and much larger in the back. The man looked up at him with wide, glossy eyes and a questioning look. He was whispering something about his bro and frothy blood crept out of his mouth after each indecipherable utterance. A moment passed and the burglar shuddered.
And then he was dead.
"Mark! Mark! What is happening? Oh my God noooooo!" Mark noted the panic in her voice as Darlene screamed from the bedroom and suddenly an unfamiliar feeling came over him. Confidence. Suddenly he'd become the dominant person. For the first time he was in control.
Despite the fresh corpse littering his kitchen floor, Mark couldn't restrain a smile. He'd let his wife wait a few minutes before showing her what he'd protected her from. This would be the most important lesson she'd ever learn. Their marriage would change from this day forward, because now he'd be wearing the pants.
He laid his gun down upon the counter and picked up the bag of M&M's. The bag was almost empty, but he managed to pry out a few sticky treats.
He tossed them into his mouth.
One of the M&M's went down the wrong pipe and he realized he couldn't breathe. His first thought was the situation was hysterical. This fucking bag of M&M's had a life of its own. He placed a tightly clenched fist beneath his sternum and forcefully pushed in.
The M&M remained.
He hacked like a cat with a stubborn hairball.
The M&M remained.
"Mark! Should I call the police?"
Mark panicked as he realized he might actually suffocate on the miniscule piece of candy. Then he saw a large, bald, pale man who lumbered into the kitchen from the dark living room. He was holding a box cutter. The intruder looked down at his dead brother and then advanced upon the man who'd killed him. He had much work to do before the night was over.
"Mark! You son of a bitch, talk to me!" Darlene screamed.
…
Later, after he'd finished his work, the intruder stepped back into the kitchen and noticed a small brown bag resting on the counter. "Hell yeah," he mumbled. "I love M&M's." Over the past few hours he'd really worked up an appetite and luckily the bag seemed to be almost completely full. He grinned as he noticed the two M&M's on the front of the package seemed to be winking at him. He lifted the bag to his mouth and greedily poured the contents down his throat.