‘Got yer golden gun?’ asked the First One as he looked down at the dramatic scene playing out far below.

‘Sure have,’ said the Second One, tapping his holster. 

’Ready for action?’

‘Yep.’

‘Good.’

The First One narrowed his eyes. ‘Right then, I’ve had enough. I’m actually sick of them.’

‘Me too.'

'So let’s get ‘em.'

'But there’s too many to shoot.’

‘So let’s drown ‘em.’

‘What? Even the little ones?’

‘Yeh. Specially the littleuns.’ 

‘But couldn’t we … sort of save … Oh, all right then. You make the waves. I’ll hold ‘em under.’

So they did. Soon the waves had completely enveloped the tiny figures all that way below. The little ones had no chance. Even the big ones were taken under the surface. All were taken under. Then the waves dispersed. Some of the bigger figures bobbed up. And, as the frothy white surface became clear, bubbles appeared. First lots of bubbles … then fewer … then fewer … then ... none.

‘What next?’ 

‘I know. Get the survivors up on to the dry and see what we can do to them there. Here we go. I’ll help ‘em out - they’re not gonna do it for themselves. Come on out you lot. I know. I know. You’d prefer to go back - end it all. Out you come. You’ll be safe here. I promise. And you, you there, yes you, hiding from me. You know you can’t avoid me. Don’t even try.’

The One who was speaking looked across at his companion, who smiled. A thin, waspish smile. But then the smile turned downwards. Slowly, theatrically. Now the face had become an Oh-what-have-we-done face. It became an ironic turned down face with blinking eyes and a tilting head. His hands moved up to his cheeks and the fingers traced imaginary tears. His shoulders lifted either side of the face and his head slid down, tortoise-like. Then he puckered his turned down mouth stretching it upwards into a smile again. A beaming one.

The other, understanding the game, raised his eyebrows, and, simultaneously, in sort of slow motion, opened his eyes wide and his mouth wide. Then he brought a hand up to cover the wide open mouth. An image of horror. But, in this case, mock horror. Pantomime horror. They both chuckled. High pitched chuckles. Put on, mock chuckles. We’re-being-very-very-bad-boy chuckles. Tee hee, tee hee chuckles. 

The figures below that had made it to the dry terrain lay there, spreadeagled. Motionless. Sad figures. Each alone. Each separated from the other figures. 

‘Let’s bomb ‘em.’

‘What? Where they’re lying? Just splatter them? Here? It’ll make a mess.’

Yeh, so? Why not?

So they did. The planes were quickly assembled - loaded - and Weeee, Neeeeeowww. The bombs were dropped. The noise was horrific. And, yes, the figures below were splattered all over. It was, as expected, quite a mess.

‘Any left?’

‘Just a few. Surprising, really, after the bombs an’ all.’ 

‘Time for the guns then.’

How they laughed, well, sniggered, as they fired. These were aren’t-we-really-horrible sort of sniggers. Ni …ni….ni …ni.

Then the door opened. 

‘What the …? What on earth is going on in here?’ The voice was loud and angry. ‘What’s that mess all over the table? It’s covered with … ugh …. with puddles of milk and squashed up bits of Kellogs Tiny People - the ones you made me buy you yesterday - and oooh those crumbs, they’re everywhere. What were you thinking of?’

‘We were just being cereal killers, mum. Get it? Cereal killers. We used some of them as bombs, see?'

‘Well you can jolly well clear up all the mess you’ve made.’

The two boys looked at each other, each searching the other, each trying to work out how the other would react to this admonishment. They were only having a bit of fun after all. The first one, not wanting to argue, found himself drawing in his breath and holding it. His stomach tightened. He started to shake, a shake that shivered down his body. Then his shoulders hunched as he tried not to breath out. He clenched his insides. But he couldn’t hold it in. He convulsed and a great snort came out of his nose. The snort made a lump of snot shoot from his nostrils and add to the pulpy mess on the table below. The other, seeing this, could not help himself. He started to laugh. Soon both boys were guffawing. Howling.

‘Please, boys. Now. Go and get a bowl and … cloths to clean it all up. Go on.’

There was a pause. A moment of silence. The two boy-gods looked at their mother. Their faces became hard. ’You do it. You’re supposed to clear up messes. You’re a woman aren’t you?”