With a maroon in his mouth and a toy to his left, the little baby Jeremy stepped out of his crib and into the world. Now in front of him were chairs, couches, windows, tables, books, cups, blankets. Below him, rugs, carpeting, wood floors. Things he had seen and tried to comprehend but couldn't really until this moment.

"Mama!"

"Jeremy! What are you doing? You need to get back inside," his mother shouted.

"Mama!"

Mrs. Dorthrow picked up little Jeremy and gently crooned him back into his cage. That little rascal, she chuckled to herself. She knew one day he was going to grow up to be a handful. She could just see the look in his eye. The one that analyzes the lens of your camera; the one that sets a tone of innocence and curiosity in your brain; the look of an intelligent young.

She knew it was only a matter of time before he turned into a toddler, looking directly at her just before jumping off coffee tables, and then not soon after than turning into a kid, quickly followed by the days of rebellion and break outs from his own prison.For now, all she could do was watch her son stare at her with an attentiveness that could only be one of a troublemaker.

It was safe to say that the Dorthrows would have at least their fair share of weeps and august.

RATE THIS CHAPTER!