One horribly hot orange-gray evening in October, Mart peered out the dusty window of his store (Mart Mart) and saw, much to his chagrin, that the schoolchildren were still parading throughout the streets. How grotesque! The sight made him physically ill. He couldn't believe it. It was unbelievable. Mart knew what he had to do. He would cleanse the earth of the scum. The reluctant, mopy schoolchildren couldn't be allowed to run amok any further. He would lure them to Mart Mart and destroy them one by one.
The children wandered about in blue-sweatered herds, giggling and talking amongst themselves. Mart narrowed his eyes. What did children like? Horses, of course. All children liked horses. He was sure.

MART.
Hello, children.
SAD CHILDREN.
Hello, Mart.

SAD CHILDREN, TO THEMSELVES.
What a horrible man.

MART.
Do you like horses?
SAD CHILDREN.
Um.
MART.
I'll bet you like horses. Where are you going?

The children gazed up at him blearily through the layers of dirt and grime in their eyelashes. Their eyes were sunken, and they were clearly deprived of much-needed sleep.

SAD BROWN-HAIRED GIRL.
We're trying to find a pool, Mart.
MART.
Oh, a pool.

MART, TO HIMSELF.
What idiotic children.

MART.
Why don't you come to Mart Mart? I'm sure you'll find a nice, big pool sometime, but right now it's. Um. Not the optimum weather for swimming.
SAD CHILDREN.
What? But, Mart, it's so hot out!
SAD BOY WITH SHOES THAT ARE FLAPPING TO PIECES.
Yes, and think of a pool, clear water with light rippling across it, blue and shining like a coin.
MART.
A coin?
SAD BROWN-HAIRED GIRL.
We'll drink it all up!
MART.
But the pool water will be chlorinated. You don't want to drink that.
SAD BOY WITH SHOES THAT ARE FLAPPING TO PIECES.
Oh, we're very thirsty, Mart.
MART.
What nonsense. That water will only make you thirstier.
SAD GIRL WITH GLASSES.
Oh, well; we can swim in it to cool off.
MART.
This is very true, but it won't quench your thirst. Come, come inside Mart Mart. There will be lots of horses, and also maybe a swimming pool.
SAD BROWN-HAIRED GIRL.
A swimming pool?
SAD GIRL WITH GLASSES.
A swimming pool?

The huddle of children narrowed their eyes. Mart stared on, swallowing in an attempt to get rid of the scratchiness coating his throat. He was increasingly aware of how uncomfortable his shirt collar was, how the plastic nametag's safety-pin pulled on the breast pocket, and he was displeased.
Schoolchildren were terrible customers at Mart Mart. They scarcely bought anything, and more often stole the adult magazines. It was despicable.

MART.
Oh, well, you never know. I don't know what's in there.

The boy with poorly-cared-for shoes was, Mart suddenly realized, clearly the leader of the group from his position, stance, and general aura of wisdom. The others looked to him now.

SAD YELLOW-HAIRED BOY.
How about it, Gregory? What do you think?
SAD BOY WITH SHOES THAT ARE FLAPPING TO PIECES.
Um.

Gregory, Mart thought.

MART.
Come on, Gregory. It will be terrific. Just like a, um, coin, as you said so poetically.

MART, TO HIMSELF.
Gregory is a terrible poet.

GREGORY, TO HIMSELF.
What a tacky nametag.

GREGORY.
I'll have to think about it.
SAD BROWN-HAIRED GIRL.
But we've been travelling so long! I think we should break.
GREGORY.
I don't know...
SAD BROWN-HAIRED GIRL.
No! I'm sick of your silly decisions. I'm going in, and whoever else wants to can come too.
MART.
No, no. I'd hate to break up your little band here...

MART, TO HIMSELF.
Yes, yes.

Gregory appeared more relaxed at Mart's sudden change of heart, but still tilted his head to the side in suspicion. You could see his socks through the opened-up tip of his shoe; white, with grey tips and a small red dotted stripe across the grey part. Hanes, probably, an admirable brand of sock in Mart's opinion, but this didn't sway him on the matter of schoolchildren. They had to go, all of them.

GREGORY.
Well...I mean. I guess it couldn't, um, do any harm. If we were just going to look around. All of us together.
MART.
Wonderful!

They entered Mart Mart nervously, glancing about at the racks of magazines, tourist mugs and t-shirts with sayings like "Shop Smart at Mart Mart." Gregory's unsatisfactory shoes continually squeaked against the floor Mart worked so hard to keep shining and lemon-scented, although people didn't usually press their faces to it. He sneakily tripped the brown-haired girl and widened his eyes in shock when she fell.

MART.
I'm very sorry! I didn't mean to do that.
SAD BROWN-HAIRED GIRL.
Is that...lemons?

The other children paid no attention to their friend's unfortunate fall; they were much too busy staring at the Mart Mart Munchee ice drink machine.

SAD YELLOW-HAIRED BOY.
Those look nice.
SAD GIRL WITH GLASSES.
Those look...very nice.
SAD YELLOW-HAIRED BOY.
Sweet n' Sour Super Succulent Syrupy Sunny Stingray Strawberry! Wow, I want to try that flavor. And, ooh, look at this one, Gregory.
GREGORY.
You're forgetting we don't have any money.
SAD BROWN-HAIRED GIRL.
Yeah, duh. We can't get any Mart Mart Munchees. Well, unless.

They stared at Mart, who shrugged, grinned, and indicated the cash register.

MART.
I'd love to give away the Munchee drinks for free, but sadly, that's not the kind of place I'm able to run. I have a house, and a family, you know.
GREGORY.
Oh. Do you have any kids?
MART.
Um.

MART, TO HIMSELF.
Ha ha. These silly children will never know I live right here in Mart Mart and have no family but these souvenir mugs.

MART.
Yes.
GREGORY.
I see.

Gregory paused to gaze a few more longing seconds at the flavor menu, particularly lingering over Mango Tango Tangy Magnificent Extra Deluxe Banana Peach Orange Creme Delight, but settled his eyes politely (although eerily) back on Mart's face.

MART, TO HIMSELF.
That kid has really fishy eyes.

GREGORY.
What are their names?
MART.
Uhhh...

Mart did not know what to say. He had never considered it before.

MART.
Mart and Mart...ina.
GREGORY.
Oh.
MART.
So you like horses, right?

It was all going wrong. Mart's pulse quickened. He had to get it over with, now or never. The yellow-haired boy, brown-haired girl, and girl-with-glasses (named James, Becky, and Lucinda, respectively) were all distracted by the new attraction of cheap plush toys in the corner. He had to act now and take out their ringleader while he could. This would weaken the others, force them apart; they wouldn't know what to do. Mart guessed that Gregory was the only thing bringing them together on their journey, whatever it was.

GREGORY.
Not particularly.
MART.
I see. Hey, look over there!

He waved a pointed finger wildly, excitingly, into the air, but Gregory's eyes failed to land on the spot. It was only a moth banging desperately into a harsh white overhead light, and it had all been a villainous ruse anyway, but still Mart felt his spirits sink a little and Gregory continued to gaze calmly ahead. Why did everyone ignore him? What did they think he was, anyway? Some kind of creep? He only wanted love, that was all, something his mother had never seemed to be interested in giving.

MART.
My father wasn't...around very much.
GREGORY.
I'm sorry to hear that.
MART.
What about your dad?
GREGORY.
He's dead.
MART.
Oh.

Well, that's what they'd said he was in school, too; just a creep, not really worth anything. Those spooky little kids. Like they'd know a non-creep when they saw one.

MART, TO HIMSELF.
They didn't know anything.

Kids were so dumb.

GREGORY.
Are you okay?
MART.
Yes.

Mart was not okay.

GREGORY.
Um. Okay. It's not a big deal or anything, you don't have to cry. I never knew him. It wasn't like...
MART.
What?

It just bothered him, that was all, that Gregory didn't fall for his clever little trick, like he didn't trust him enough for some reason. Or worse, he'd had this certainty, just within minutes of speaking to Mart, that whatever it was Mart felt deserved attention, clearly didn't warrant any. He thought Mart's judgment was worthless? Who was this kid to decide that? This kid's taste in socks was what it was, but he couldn't afford replacement sneakers, that was for sure, and his friends didn't even notice how vulnerable he was in such close proximity to a stranger by the drink fountain while they babbled idiotically over a mountain of poor quality stuffed animals.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, it was all stupid. He'd wipe away his tears and get down to what had to be done.

MART.
Well, Gregory, it's been very nice to have you kids at Mart Mart. It's a shame to be away from my own kids and their...um...laughter and bright...chipper...expressions.

Mart found he was grinding his teeth together very hard as he spoke. Gregory looked puzzled, though arranged his features to appear blank and polite nonetheless.

GREGORY.
Oh, well. It was, um, very nice to come in? I...don't see any horses, though.
MART.
Silly me. I must have forgotten to bring them today.
GREGORY:
Uh...ha ha?

For Mart was grinning very, very fiercely.

MART.
And by God, the swimming pool! Very foolish of me! I'm terrible! Really terrible, Gregory. God, you don't even know.
GREGORY:
Oh, um. That's okay.

Mart leaned forward and seized the boy's thin shoulders, shaking him violently.

MART.
You don't understand. I'm terrible. I'm a terrible person.

His breath came in gasping sobs, and he began to wheeze.

GREGORY.
Uh...uh...I-I'm sure that isn't true. Please let go of me.
LUCINDA.
Hey...Mart?
JAMES.
Gregory?
BECKY.
Huh?
GREGORY.
Let go of me. Stop it!

Suddenly, unnervingly, Mart's sobs turned into cackles as he smashed Gregory's skull against the Mart Mart Munchy machine. Lucinda, James, and Becky all gasped in horror as the redness pooled around their friend's pale, still face, as startlingly bright red as a Sweet n' Sour Super Succulent Syrupy Sunny Stingray Strawberry Munchee. It was terrible. He stared straight ahead, his eyes like empty pools. For him there was no forseeable future swimming pool shining like a coin, and the yellow sun had fallen below the dusky hills, like the hope and futures of the four children.

MART, TO HIMSELF.
God, those eyes are fishy.

JAMES.
You...you're a murderer!
MART.
I. Um. What? I'm not going to tolerate name-calling from unpleasant children who breathe through their mouths, you know.
JAMES.
I...what? You killed someone! You murdered our friend!
BECKY.
Gregory can't be dead!

She rushed forward, sobbing, but Lucinda pulled her back.

LUCINDA.
Don't let him murder you, too. That murderer.
MART.
Now, stop that.
JAMES.
Blood, everywhere.

He looked nauseous, as though he might faint.

GREGORY.
Surprise!
MART.
Wait, no!

All of them watched in stricken terror as Gregory turned his face to the lemon-scented floor and began to lick it clean. Relief flooded Lucinda's features. She wore thick spectacles and so was naturally the brains of the group.

LUCINDA.
Why, it's not blood at all. It's syrup flavoring for a Munchee drink!
JAMES.
Ohhh.
BECKY.
Gregory, you're okay!

Her eyes flashed ecstatically and she rushed forward, ignoring Mart, who anyway looked very confused and saddened indeed at his latest plan gone so horribly wrong.

GREGORY.
What? Oh, no. It's not syrup flavoring at all. This is blood, all right.

He grinned up at them with an endearingly crooked set of teeth and began to laugh a wonderful, warm, sunny laugh that touched everyone's heart except the one belonging to Mart, who had actually died long ago.

GREGORY.
It's just...I'm so...so...

He sputtered with laughter and was unable to finish his sentence, so jolly was he. Becky, James, and Lucinda implored him to finish, their eyes sparkling with suppressed mirth.

GREGORY.
I'm so thirsty!

They all joined together in uproarious laughter, white teeth flashing in the overhead lights as the moth finally beat itself to death and fell to the floor. The laughter shook their half-starved frames and felled the plush animals from the shelves, whose stitched smiles seemed only to reflect their happiness and togetherness and sunniness despite the darkness outside Mart Mart. But there in the light that bathed the little shop, despite the hopelessness of being trapped in this eternal limbo place that seemed only to contain mini-marts and abandoned ballparks and playparks and other lost children and one very bitter person who couldn't properly carry out a murder, there in the middle of Mart Mart they hugged each other and laughed an achingly beautiful laughter, best friends for all time. Mart sat in the corner and cried.