On James K. Boulevard, a boxy, brooding mansion stands. It wasn’t always there, in fact, I bet toy cars are still buried in the dirt of what was once my childhood home. They aren’t just any toy cars, they are the little matchbox cars I used to drive slowly back and forth on my brother’s windowsill, the ones that would teeter over the edge and find their new home in the hedge right below. After all the cars that fell to their death there, it is no wonder that my brother did not hesitate to take a doll from my desk. His innocent act, borrowing something to draw, could not go unpunished in my eyes. Most of the time people had enough common sense to not stumble into my room and touch my things, especially not the little blue doll that a barely left my hands. This plastic doll stood three inches tall and held little to no importance to anyone but little ole’ me.

I, a five year old misfit, set out on a mission to divide and conquer, to get my revenge. One thing about little kids is they don’t tend to think things through, as though there are no such thing as consequences. I was no exception. Deciding to seek revenge I tried to seem as big and intimidating as possible, I puffed my chest out, pursed my lips, and balled my small hands into tiny fists at my side. I stepped out into the hall and froze, my mom was laughing at me. “Oh Hannah what are getting yourself into this time?” She smiled lovingly. I just kept on marching. I realized I didn’t really think of a plan or even had considered walking in and taking the tiny treasure back, I just stood silently in front of the red door. I looked down at the handle, which was put it on backwards when it was built. These little flaws not only gave the house character but also set fire to my imagination. The lock stared at me, just a tiny click and I could get revenge. I slowly looked to my right and left, the hallway was empty, there was no witness. I looked back to the lock, I instantly knew if anyone happened to figure out that I was the culprit I would be in serious trouble. But then it came creeping in, the reassurance that I, my parents’ sweet little angel, never got caught.

“Accidentally” locking my brother in wasn’t the best thing I could do, but then again it wasn’t the worst. It was like the tiny button was a magnet, constantly drawing my thoughts to it and now, also my finger. I placed my hand on the cold metal and closed my eyes. The click of the lock sealed my fate. The deed was done, now I could just skip back to my room and play with my other toys. Around a half hour later my mom stood in my doorway. “Have you seen your brother recently?” I simply shook my head no. “Didn’t he go out with dad this morning?” I shrugged, no one ever expects the clueless. Dinner came rolling around and it was just the two of us, a perfect little tag team- until the door opened and dad came home. I excused myself to get something from my room and crawled under my desk. I could hear the anger echo through the hall. “You don’t have him?”

“Of course I don’t!” As if on cue, the victim started banging on the door shouting cries for help. It seemed like all I could do was pray and hide. I got up and climbed into my cabinet closing the door after me, leaving myself in darkness. I could hear my door squeak open and footsteps coming my way. She slowly opened and peeked into each cabinet, the creaking sound sent a chill through my bones. She kept getting closer and closer, door by door, I knew she would find me. Light slowly started to leak in, and then all at once, she glared down at me.

There is a reason why karma is a part of many religions, because it turns out that at one point or another people reap what they sow. Of course, little kids don’t usually take the time to consider the consequences, they live almost completely in the moment. I was no exception. Times like this are ingrained in my mind because of their simplicity. They also make you think. Little kids don’t think about their actions and therefore make some questionable decisions. Yet sometimes living in the moment is a necessity, because constantly questioning what could happen makes it hard to see what will happen, possibly resulting in never taking a chance and living in regret. Of course we know to keep in mind that there is reason for a course of events and make educated decisions, but there has always been something sweet in the innocence of a child's decision making, it makes them easier to forgive. As I discover more myself, I find that I am balancing on the line between being a child and an adult. I’ve tried to live making both childlike and educated decisions when needed, always trying to be a child at heart yet an adult at the dinner table. If anything, I’d proudly say I have always lived my life as a wise idiot, contradicting myself all the time.