The lizard was an unusual choice for a favourite toy. It wobbled like old jelly and its rubber had the catch of human skin to it. Half of its bottom jaw was missing on account of Matilda’s insatiable need to chew. It went everywhere with her and today it was in the kitchen, its green mouth gaped over the crusty end of the bread.
“Move it, Tildy.” Mallory stopped sawing through the loaf. “The kitchen is no place for a lizard.”
The directive was met with a stomp and a pout.
“That thing has been in your mouth. It’s not hygienic. Take it away.”
“Matilda! Do you want time out?”
The little girl grabbed the lizard to her chest with chubby hands.
Hannah van Didden / About Author
Hannah van Didden plays with words in the second most isolated capital city in the world. You will find pieces of her published or forthcoming in places like Breach zine, Southerly Journal, Atticus Review, Southword, and thirtyseven [http://37thirtyseven.wordpress.com]—and she hopes you'll see her first novel on a bookshelf near you very soon.