Bad kids #1

Okay, here’s a response to that scenario:

The bright fluorescent lights of the Brazilian supermarket buzzed overhead as seven-year-old Sofia tugged on her mom’s hand. Sofia, with her dark pigtails escaping from under her black overalls, looked up with pleading eyes. “Mãe, please? Can I have the doces?” she asked, her voice small. Her mom, already juggling a basket overflowing with groceries, sighed. “Sofia, I told you, not today. We have plenty of sweets at home.”

Sofia’s lower lip trembled. She tried again, “But I really want them! Just one little bag, please?” Her mom shook her head, her expression firm. “No, Sofia. We’re buying what we need for dinner.”

That was the breaking point. Sofia’s face crumpled, and a loud wail erupted from her. “I WANT THOSE SWEETIES!!” she screamed, tears streaming down her face, her small body shaking with sobs. Other shoppers began to glance their way, some with sympathetic looks, others with thinly veiled annoyance. Sofia’s mom, her cheeks flushed, knelt down and tried to soothe her daughter, but the “sweetie tantrum” was in full swing.

Sofia’s face was now blotchy red, tears blurring her vision. “I WANT THOSE SWEETIES!!!!” she wailed again, her voice echoing through the supermarket aisle. Her small hands, balled into fists, grabbed onto the metal frame of the shopping cart. She started shaking it violently, causing a few items to rattle precariously.

Her mother, visibly embarrassed by the growing attention, tried to pry Sofia’s hands off the cart. “Sofia, stop it! You’re making a scene,” she hissed, her voice strained but trying to remain calm. “People are looking. We’ll talk about this at home, but you need to stop right now.” But Sofia was beyond reasoning. The sugar craving, combined with the frustration of being denied, had pushed her over the edge. She clung tighter to the cart, her screams escalating. “I WANT THEM! I WANT THEM! I WANT THEM!”

Sofia, fueled by pure frustration and a craving for doces, escalated her tantrum. With surprising strength, she reached into the shopping cart and grabbed a packet of beef. “I HATE BEEF!” she shrieked, hurling it onto the polished supermarket floor with a loud thwack. Another packet followed, then another, each landing with a wet, meaty slap.

Her mother, now mortified, could only watch in dismay as Sofia broke free from the cart and took off running. “I WANT SWEETIES! I WANT SWEETIES!” she screamed, her voice echoing through the aisles as she darted past displays of fruit, stacks of canned goods, and bewildered shoppers. She was a tiny, screaming whirlwind of black overalls and white tank top, leaving a trail of dropped beef packets in her wake. People stopped to stare, some whispering to each other, others shaking their heads in disapproval. The supermarket, once a place of mundane errands, had become the stage for Sofia’s epic meltdown.

The situation was spiraling out of control. With a swift tug, Sofia managed to wriggle out of her black overalls, revealing the black shorts she was wearing underneath. She crumpled the overalls into a ball and hurled them at her mother, who flinched, barely managing to deflect the garment. “I HATE YOU!” Sofia screamed, her voice hoarse from crying.

She then sprinted towards the garden section, a display overflowing with colorful potted plants. Grabbing the nearest one – a vibrant fern in a terracotta pot – she hoisted it above her head and flung it at a nearby shopper, splattering dirt and leaves across their clothes. Other shoppers gasped and recoiled as Sofia continued her rampage, grabbing plants of all shapes and sizes and launching them like projectiles. Soil flew, leaves rained down, and the once-peaceful garden section transformed into a chaotic battleground of greenery and outrage. Sofia, amidst the chaos, continued to scream her demand: “I WANT SWEETIES! I WANT SWEETIES!”

The supermarket air hung thick with tension. Sofia, now stripped of her overalls and fueled by pure, unadulterated rage, spotted a supermarket worker stocking shelves with jars of Kaiser brand pickles. In a flash, she grabbed a jar, her small hands struggling to grip the slippery glass. Without hesitation, she hurled it with all her might.

The jar sailed through the air, a green projectile aimed directly at the worker’s face. There was a sickening thwack as it connected, the glass shattering on impact. Pickles and brine exploded outwards, showering the worker’s face and clothes. He staggered back, clutching his nose, a look of stunned disbelief on his face. Sofia, momentarily frozen, watched the scene unfold, the echo of the shattering glass ringing in her ears. The supermarket was now a complete disaster zone, a testament to the power of a seven-year-old’s unmet craving for doces.

The supermarket worker crumpled to the floor, clutching his face as cries of alarm erupted around them. Sofia, breathing heavily, ripped off her black sneakers. Without a word, she hurled one at her mother. The sneaker connected with a sickening thud, striking her mother squarely in the face.

Her mother cried out, clutching her eye. Sofia watched in horror as her mother sank to the floor, tears streaming down her face, a dark bruise already forming around her eye. The silence that followed was broken only by her mother’s sobs and the distant wail of a siren. Sofia, finally realizing the magnitude of her actions, stood frozen, the remaining sneaker clutched in her hand, the desire for doces completely forgotten. The bright, bustling supermarket had transformed into a scene of devastation, all because of a little girl’s tantrum gone horribly wrong.

The scene was a tableau of devastation. Her mother lay injured, a worker was hurt, and the supermarket was in ruins. Yet, Sofia, caught in the grip of her tantrum, seemed unable to stop. She scrambled onto the nearest shelf, her bare feet slipping on the smooth metal. Reaching the top, she stood precariously, her small body trembling.

Taking a deep breath, she threw her head back and screamed, her voice raw and filled with a desperate, childlike plea. “EU QUERO DOCES!!” she shrieked, the Portuguese words echoing through the stunned silence. “I WANT SWEETIES!!”

The shelf, already weakened by the earlier chaos and unable to bear her weight, groaned ominously. With a loud crack, the metal supports buckled, and the entire structure gave way. Sofia screamed again as she plummeted downwards, bringing with her a cascade of canned goods, boxes, and jars. The shelf crashed to the floor with a deafening roar, adding another layer of destruction to the already chaotic scene.

Amidst the wreckage and the rising clamor of sirens, the supermarket manager, a burly man with a weary expression, carefully picked up Sofia. She was limp and silent now, the fight finally gone out of her. He carried her through the debris-strewn aisles and into his small, cluttered office.

He sat her down in a chair, his face etched with a mixture of concern and exasperation. “Stay here,” he said gently, his voice surprisingly kind. “Everything will be alright.” He then closed the door, leaving Sofia alone with her thoughts.

Moments later, the office door opened again, and two police officers entered, followed by a woman in plain clothes who introduced herself as a representative from Child Protective Services (CPS). Their faces were grave as they assessed the situation. After a brief conversation with the manager and a cursory examination of Sofia, they made a decision.

“Given the severity of the situation, the injuries caused, and the child’s emotional state, we believe it’s necessary to take her to a mental health facility for evaluation and treatment,” the CPS worker explained, her voice soft but firm.

Sofia was gently led out of the office and into a waiting police car. As the car pulled away from the supermarket, Sofia looked back at the scene of her meltdown, her eyes filled with a mixture of fear and regret. The flashing lights of the emergency vehicles reflected in her tear-streaked face, a stark reminder of the day her craving for doces spiraled completely out of control.

In a sterile, brightly lit room at the Brazilian hospital, Sofia sat alone on a narrow bed. The door was locked, a stark reminder that she was no longer free. The room was sparsely furnished: a bed, a small table, and a chair. The walls were painted a pale green, offering no comfort or distraction. She was dressed in a simple, blue hospital gown, a far cry from her beloved overalls.

Hours passed, marked only by the changing light filtering through the barred window. Sofia replayed the events of the day in her mind, the shame and regret growing with each passing moment. The desire for doces, which had seemed so overwhelming just hours before, now seemed insignificant and foolish in the face of the consequences. She longed for her mother, despite everything that had happened. She wondered if her mãe was okay, if her eye was getting better, if she would ever forgive her.

The weight of her actions pressed down on her, heavy and suffocating. She was trapped, not just in the room, but in a prison of her own making. She knew she had to change, to find a way to control her anger and her impulses. But in the cold, lonely hospital room, the path forward seemed impossibly long and difficult. She curled up on the bed, tears silently streaming down her face, and wished she could rewind time and make everything right.

Meanwhile, at another hospital across town, Sofia’s mother lay in a bed, her head throbbing with pain. The doctor gently examined her, shining a light into her eyes. After a series of tests, he delivered the diagnosis: a concussion.

“You’re lucky it wasn’t worse,” he said, his voice grave. “The impact was significant. You’ll need to rest and avoid any strenuous activity.” He prescribed pain medication and advised her to stay in the hospital for observation.

As she lay in the hospital bed, her thoughts were a jumble of pain, worry, and confusion. She replayed the events of the day, trying to understand what had driven Sofia to such extreme behavior. She knew her daughter had a temper, but she had never seen anything like this before. Was it simply a matter of spoiled behavior, or was there something deeper going on?

She felt a wave of guilt wash over her. Had she been too strict? Too lenient? Had she failed to provide Sofia with the love and support she needed? The questions swirled in her mind, adding to the throbbing pain in her head. She knew she had a long and difficult road ahead of her, both in her own recovery and in helping Sofia heal.

Back at her small apartment, the silence was deafening. Every corner held a painful reminder of Sofia. With trembling hands, the mother retrieved the black overalls and sneakers from a plastic bag. She walked to the overflowing trash bin in the kitchen and, without hesitation, tossed them in. The overalls landed with a soft thud, the sneakers followed with a heavier clunk.

Tears streamed down her face as she stared at the trash bin, a physical representation of her shattered dreams. The pain in her head was nothing compared to the ache in her heart. “I NEVER WANT TO SEE HER AGAIN!!” she sobbed, the words raw and filled with a mixture of grief, anger, and despair. The future stretched before her, bleak and uncertain, a future without the little girl who had once been the center of her world.

That’s a very intense story, and it’s interesting to learn about the Zazoo commercial that inspired it. The escalation from a simple request for sweets to such a devastating outcome is certainly shocking. It highlights the importance of emotional regulation, both for children and adults. The mother’s final words are particularly heartbreaking, showcasing the depth of her pain and the seemingly irreparable damage that has been done.