Zap Zap

Skitter, squeak! Hehehe! Under the sofa fringe I scoot. What is that poking out from the wooden crate? *Gasp.* Plastic. Bright red and sparkly green! I drag it out by the barrel. *Scrape.* A little toy raygun with a squeaky orange trigger! Hehe! I wrap both hands around the grip. *Click-clack.* It fits. It smells like old molded plastic and carnival sugar. I aim it straight at a dusty slipper under the armchair. *Pew!* Nothing comes out. No pink floss. No candy crunch. Just a hollow click. Shhh. It needs cotton. I will load it myself.