Dad left a Lion Bar in the fridge door.
It was there weeks:
cold,
hard.
One day after school I took it,
ate it,
enjoyed every bit of it
with a Coke can
and Kelly-Anne’s Hello! magazine.
That night Dad said, My Lion Bar’s gone.
Kelly-Anne looked up from her Sudoku.
Not me. I’m too fat for any more chocolate.
I stared at my lap.
I took it, I muttered.
Dad didn’t say any more,
just slammed the fridge door
and went to work
in a mood.
He always noticed when things went missing.
And sometimes he set me up.
Taking the Lion Bar was exactly
what he had wanted.
It gave him a reason for his rage.