Never come between a toddler and her fruit pouch.
Babysitting toddler Scout should be simple until Max’s obsession with baby-food pouches ignites a frantic standoff. When a stolen fruit pouch finally reaches Scout, her innocent giggle curdles into something gleeful, knowing, and faintly terrifying. What began as snack-time chaos ends with two adults realizing the real villain was three.
A Tiny, Delighted Villain
“Christ, Max, you drained that faster than a dehydrated vampire,” I said. Max didn’t blink. He grabbed another baby‑food pouch, twisted off the cap, and inhaled it like oxygen.
“Jane asked us to watch Scout, not starve her. Give me that.”
Max jerked back, clutching the pouch like it was a newborn. His eyes went wide, feral.
“I’m telling you, Maisie, you don’t know what you’re missing.”
“Max, it’s pureed fruit.”
“It’s fuel,” he whispered. “Scout can have the peas. THE PEAS, MAISIE.”
“You’re an idiot.” I ripped the pouches out of his arms. He made a noise that was half gasp, half wounded animal.
“Go eat a Snickers.”
Max dropped to the floor like someone unplugged him. He scooted backward until he hit the corner, knees to his chest, staring up at me with the wide, confused eyes of a three‑year‑old who’d just been told the playground was closed.
“Maisie… what happened?”
Before I could answer, he sprang up — toddler‑fast — and lunged, trying to stop me from giving Scout the fruit pouch. Everything slowed down, dramatic and ridiculous, like an action movie filmed on a budget of twelve dollars.
“No— don’t let her—”
He whirled; I ducked; the pouch flew; and then everything stopped.
A sound rose behind us. That manic giggle. The one you hear right before the guy in the horror movie chases screaming teenagers through the woods.
We turned.
Scout stood in her highchair, giggling, drinking the pureed fruit straight from the pouch. Her eyes were glossy. Her smile was too wide. Too knowing.
I swallowed. “We are screwed.”
Scout giggled again — a tiny, delighted villain.
“Run,” Max whispered. “Every man for themselves.”
Judge’s Praise
“Oh my goodness, this was a fun story! The premise of an adult gobbling down baby food and becoming addicted was hilarious… I loved the idea of them running, with every man for themselves — this was a great ending!” — Judge 1943
“This is such an entertaining story. I really enjoyed this amusing premise of a person becoming very attached to pureed baby food… Well done crafting a very engaging story!” — Judge 2253
“I love the flexibility this story brings to fiction writing. The moment when everything shifts into slow motion, the references to film, and then especially the way Scout is likened as some strange, horror movie villain, created fantastic visuals for me… Great work!” — Judge 2337
Author’s Note
Written for the NYC Midnight Two Story Challenge — Assignment #1, Group 37.1. The rules: make it Comedy, include feeding a baby, and sneak in the word transform. (Spoiler: I forgot the word. Disqualified on a technicality, but still very proud of my toddler villain.)
If you’ve ever thought about entering a writing competition — do it. Place or don’t, that’s not really the point. The real win is getting notes back from judges who have zero reason to be nice to you and tell you the truth anyway. So, two-part dare: enter something, and when the feedback comes in, read it like a gift, not a verdict. Worst case, you get a good story out of it. Best case, you get a toddler who drinks fruit pouches like a tiny, delighted villain.
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