Status: definitely writing
Pick Your Poison
1.
The first time was kinda scary. We weren't sure if people would buy it. "Just be adorable. Who wouldn't want to buy some flavored lemonade from such sweet innocent eight year old girls?" daddy would chuckle. I never questioned daddy. Lindsey, my twin sister, did. "Why are we doing this daddy? Are they bad people?" daddy never actually answered. He would just nonchalantly continue telling us what to do. Going over the rules and guidelines. I liked doing this, Lindsey didn't. I was daddy's pride and joy.
We had a lemonade stand in the front yard of our big Victorian styled home. Every little girl's fantasy house, and I was living it. Raspberry, cherry, strawberry and grapefruit. The flavors. Each flavor was a poison. Each poison killed. Quickly. Lindsey would turn her head as the customers drank the lemonade, and would cry when we half carried, half dragged them to the front steps to daddy who watched proudly. We lived on a deserted street, the only house on the block. So cars rarely drove by. Which was perfect.
I remember our first "customer". She was a teenager, probably about 16 walking quickly, with dumbbells, obviously working out. She was dying of thirst and just had to stop for a drink. She asked for lemonade with grapefruit flavoring. The fastest working one, I thought to myself. I handed her the drink, and she gulped it down. "This is great! Good job girls." she said. She placed the money and the table and turned to walk away.
Just as she did so, she fell to the floor. My smile widened as Lindsey's eyes began to water. We ran to the girl. She was pretty. Dark blonde hair, bright green eyes which now began to roll back in her head, she was beautiful. We brought her into daddy and rejoiced. Our first lovely win. We took her downstairs and sat her in the chair in front of a simple camera. Daddy liked to document our victims.
We had a lemonade stand in the front yard of our big Victorian styled home. Every little girl's fantasy house, and I was living it. Raspberry, cherry, strawberry and grapefruit. The flavors. Each flavor was a poison. Each poison killed. Quickly. Lindsey would turn her head as the customers drank the lemonade, and would cry when we half carried, half dragged them to the front steps to daddy who watched proudly. We lived on a deserted street, the only house on the block. So cars rarely drove by. Which was perfect.
I remember our first "customer". She was a teenager, probably about 16 walking quickly, with dumbbells, obviously working out. She was dying of thirst and just had to stop for a drink. She asked for lemonade with grapefruit flavoring. The fastest working one, I thought to myself. I handed her the drink, and she gulped it down. "This is great! Good job girls." she said. She placed the money and the table and turned to walk away.
Just as she did so, she fell to the floor. My smile widened as Lindsey's eyes began to water. We ran to the girl. She was pretty. Dark blonde hair, bright green eyes which now began to roll back in her head, she was beautiful. We brought her into daddy and rejoiced. Our first lovely win. We took her downstairs and sat her in the chair in front of a simple camera. Daddy liked to document our victims.