The Little Boy and His Pickle

The little boy lay curled up in his mother’s side. She was reading him a bedtime story, the same one she reads every night. He could tell there was a touch of annoyance in her breath as she repeated the words she had been repeating for the past three months. The little boy had never gotten sick of the story, though.

“Mister Giraffe was rather fond of Mrs Giraffe,” the little boy’s mother said. “One day, he asked her to marry him.” “And what’d she say?” asked the little boy, with the same excitement. His mother sighed. She closed the book, her thumb keeping track of the page she was up to. “My dear, we have read this book dozens of times. Don’t you think it’s about time I read you another story?” “I want to know what she said!” The little boy stalled. “You already know!” “Oh, please, mama!” He begged. She gave in. The little boy could not wipe the smile off his face. He sunk his chin into his blanket to avoid getting caught by his mother.

Like every good story, though, the one the little boy’s mother had been reading to him on a nightly basis three months straight had come to an end, too. He asked for more hugs, for more kisses, for a longer cuddle, for her to tuck him in once, twice, thrice more, and his mother was weary with fatigue. “I need to get some sleep, my dear, and as do you.” “But mama, please, I don’t want to sleep by myself!” “Every young man has his own room, dear, I don’t see why you shouldn’t! Here, I’ll check underneath your bed to convince you that you are indeed alone,” she crouched down, scanned the neat area underneath his bed, and stood up again, “see? Nothing. Only you.”

The little boy’s mother gave him a final peck on his forehead. “Could you turn the nightlight on mama?” “Sure, dear.” She bent down and flicked the switch – nothing. She flicked it back off, then on again. Nothing. The little boy began to panic. “Dear, I don’t think you’ll need it tonight. You’ve been so brave recently! Right?” Wrong. Today, the little boy and his best friend Gary had watched a scary clip on YouTube, and he had been shaken from it all day. He cannot get the screaming figure out of his mind, no matter how hard he tried. Even the trees outside his window seemed to remind him of it tonight. In fact, everything did. “Mama, please, I-“ “Honey, stop carrying on. I have checked your entire room. There’s nothing. Your father and I are in the room next to you, we are not far. Now, please, get some sleep.”

And with haste, she turned off the light, and left the little boy’s room. His eyes took a while to adjust to the sudden darkness, and he sunk further and further into his bed until he was engulfed in his blankets. Little crackling noises began to happen in the corners of his room. Next to his bookshelf, then his desk, then underneath his bed. He could not take it anymore. He leaped out of his bed, and ran to the light switch, and flicked it on. He looked around his room. The only thing he could hear was his own heavy breathing, and his parents’ soft snoring. He couldn’t wake them up.

Apart from the scary clip on YouTube, the little boy and Gary had watched some funky science experiment clips. One of them showed that by plugging an electric source into a pickle, the pickle would light up. The weird guy in the clip said that it was due to all of the salty water contained within the pickle. It makes it a conductor of electricity.  The little boy had an idea upon remembering that. He hurried downstairs, as quietly as he could, and headed straight to the fridge.

The pickle jar was on the top shelf in the fridge. He climbed the bottom shelf, and could just reach the jar. He slid it to the edge of the shelf, then carried it down to the kitchen bench. He unscrewed the lid, and grabbed the juiciest pickle he could find. He took it out and placed it in a glass cup, with a little bit of the water that it was pickled in. He then took a pair of scissors from his father’s desk, along with the spare fire alarm battery, and found his dad’s copper wire dispenser. He took them up to his room, and assembled a small circuit.

He placed the circuit on his bedside table, and connected the copper wire to the pickle. After twenty seconds, the pickle had lit up, lighting up his room with a bright orange colour. The little boy was content with his little experiment. So content, that he had forgotten all about the scary clip, turned off his bedroom light, and lay in his bed beside the bright orange ambience of the pickle.

In the morning, the little boy’s mother awoke to find him sleeping ever so sweetly beside a cup containing a pickle. She did not question this. She closed his door, and left him to sleep in peace.