McDonald's Ad - I'm Lovin' It!

She walks in from the cool, heavy air outside, the ashen skies and misty swirls giving way to palid walls, stained rugs the color of yellow, sickly skin, and one of her young sons watching TV in the living room. She walks in with a bag of McDonald's, she wished she could do more than just bring them this, but she was so tired from the long day of work, and needed to go to bed soon in order to repeat it all again in just 6 hours. She places the bag on the kitchen table.

Throughout the night her sleep is full of tossing and turning, the stress makes it hard to sleep. At some point a quiet noise wakes her, and her being the light sleeper that she is her eyes immediately toss open. Her youngest son stands there, staring at her and breathing heavily.

He whispers, "It needs more Peppa Pig mommy..." and begins to pet her hair.

Unnerved, she grasps his hand, "What... What the hell are you doing?! G-Go back to bed!"

"More. Peppa. Pig." He drones, on and on, calmly leaving the room and, presumably, heading back to his. The whole ordeal keeps her up throughout the rest of the night, up until her alarm sounds and she, with much effort, makes an attempt at getting ready for the day. After getting properly dressed, she heads to the kitchen for her daily morning rounds of sausage and eggs with coffee. She's surprised to see her youngest son, who isn't usually up at this hour, watching TV in the living room. He follows her to the kitchen, startling her while she's making coffee as he says, "Mommy? You know what this all needs?"

"Huh...?"

"Needs more Peppa Pig".

"Umm... Right sure, hey listen... Uh, are you... Feeling okay?"

"Mom it needs more Peppa Pig"

"Can you please stop with that, look, do I need to take you to-"

"It needs. More. Peppa. Pig."

"Jackson, please..."

"Needs more Peppa Piiiiig!" He begins screeching, shrieking over and over, his mother trying to get him to stop but she can't he just keeps screeching "NEEDS MORE PEPPA PIIIIG!!" over and over and she cries "Jackson! Jackson! Please stop!" but he can't, no, he won't, every fiber of his being refuses to, he NEEDS more-

She snaps, "SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT THE FUCK UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUP!" she HOWLS as she wraps her hands around his throat and swings his tiny, frail body around, smashing him into a nearby wall.

Still, he spits out "Neds. mor. Pep. Pa. Pig". At once she shrieks at this defiance, letting go and digging her thumbs deep into his eyes sockets, blood and goop seeping out onto her hands and trailing across his face and he screams in pain "AAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!! NEEEEEDS MOREEEEEE PEPPPPPPPAAAAAA PIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGGGGGGG!" she keeps screaming for him to shut up, ripping out the pile of gunk that is what's left of his eyes, grabbing the back of his head and slamming it repeatedly into the ground, her foot setting on the back of his neck as she holds him there, keeping him from getting up. He squirms around, yelping in pain about his need, somehow managing to remain conscious despite all the pain, despite the sheer blood loss, despite so many things; he's still managing to move. He grips onto her leg "MOMMY, MOMMY PLEASE MORE MORE PIG MORE PEPPA PLEASE PLEASE PLEAAAAASSSEE", she responds with a shrill scream as she kicks him repeatedly, his face becoming a bruised, droopy mess.

He manages to rise, clinging to her to do so, his rabid ramblings about Peppa Pig nearly incoherent. She grabs hold of his face, and looks into what remains of his eyes. The eyes of her sweet baby boy who she's fought so hard over the years to support and... And... She finds herself, with all her might, forcing his head to the side, twisting his neck in a manner that it was not meant to twist, his broken face contorting into a mask of sheer agony upon his realization that he will never have more of his dear Peppa Pig. A sickening snap reverberates throughout the room and his body crumples to the floor.

Her head is swimming, there's her son's dead body on the floor. Blood everywhere. Cheeseburger on the table. It's raining outside. Work soon. Fear. Joy. Sorrow. Anguish. Loathing. Why? What? Who? How? She stares, tired and confused and sad, at the body, ignoring the blood that covers her and just staring and looking around in a daze. She is not quite sure what happened. She is not quite sure of anything in that moment, her newfound doubt of her senses leading her to the consideration that not all she thinks is real in fact is real, indeed, maybe none of it is. She slumps to her knees. Her mouth moves slightly as if trying to say "WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING" but nothing comes out, indeed, the movement of her lips seem far too subtle to indicate any speaking is being attempted.

She sits there for what seems like hours in a daze before she begins to notice the pain. A flaring hot pain that courses all throughout but stems from- "What the fuck!? OH MY GOD." She screeches upon realizing that a good portion of her shoulder was being consumed by her older son, who despite being only slightly older than the crumpled mess on the ground, was considerably heavier, as if McDonald's was the only thing he ever ate. "Derrick, Derrick what are you doing- oh my god, stop! STOP!" but he goes on, chewing feverishly through the cloth and skin and bone. He's crying, profusely so. Between bites crying out that he had wanted a hamburger, not a cheeseburger.

She tries to push him off, but he's leaning with all his weight and he's so heavy she just can't manage it. No matter how hard she hits him he just won't budge. "Mommy!" He sobs "You should have g-gotten" More sobbing "Me a HAMBURGER! I wanted a HAMBURGER!" He continues his sobbing and his manic chewing.

As she lays there, being eaten alive, resigned to her fate, she glimpses at the corpse of her youngest son, and she weeps. It hurts. It hurts so much and she's terrified and disgusted and sad but, glimpsing upon that body, she holds to a belief that this is what she deserves for she's done. This is what happens to bad mothers. This is what happens.

Sirens blare throughout the neighborhood, police burst in, guns up, but, appalled, shocked, disturbed. The boy doesn't even notice them and continues feasting and crying and apologizing.

And without knowing why, perhaps out of fear or shock, the police begin riddling the boy with bullets as he continues attempting to finish his meal.

He collapses to the floor, his body riddled with holes, the police seemingly having used all they had to take out the boy.

They gasp and pant and shudder. They do not understand what has happened here. They will never understand. Not even years from now, the memory of that morning keeping them up throughout the night, throughout all nights.

More sirens blare, and special teams are brought to cover and take the mangled, twisted corpses away.

No one speaks of the incident, they just hold their breaths for a long time. It catches in their throats, until it lets out and they shudder at the thoughts of what could have happened here, what could have lead to this.

And throughout all the searching, the swabbing, the investigators doing their best to piece together what they think is a puzzle, a cold McCheesburger sits on the kitchen table, completely uneaten.

The End.

(This ad brought to you by McDonald's. I'm loving it!)