Children are morbid. There’s no other word for it sometimes.
A little boy, Tamilbaradhi, was watching a student of mine painting a gate.
“Don’t touch the gate,” I warned him.
He nodded, knowingly, but seemed to expect me to say more.
“The beautiful, freshly painted gate will get spoilt,” I clarified.
Tamilbaradi frowned. That was not what he expected. “My hand will get stuck to it,” he said, eagerly.
Fresh oil paint, small child (about three years old) – I agreed. “Yes, your hand will get stuck to it.”
“And I will never be able to pull it away,” continued Tamilbaradi, happily.
“And then, my hand will have to be cut off for me to be free!” he pronounced, delighted.
This from a three-year old child.
Children are morbid.