Daily Writing Blurb

"Warning... Warning... Warning..." 
The boy tugged on his mother's skirt, using his other hand to cover one of his ears. "Mommy, what's my label going to say?" he asked. His mother shrugged, uncomfortable herself with the high volume of the label system. 
As they neared the main door, she knelt down and fixed his shirt. "You be brave for Mommy, darling. It’s going to be very loud, but I promise it won’t hurt. Just stay extra still, alright? Can you do that for Mommy?" she said. The boy nodded. She stood again, adjusting her blouse; they were now second in line. 
"What's your label say, Mommy?" he asked. She sighed and glanced at her label for the twentieth time that morning. 
"My label warns people about my poor balance.” 
He nodded, watching the boy in front of him part from his father and step onto the conveyor belt. “How does the machine know what to put on your label?” the boy asked. 
“Well, it – I don’t know, darling,” she replied as the attendant asked her to put the boy through. "Now, remember, be extra still. I'll be waiting when you're done, and we'll go get an ice cream, alright?" The boy nodded and turned to the conveyor. She kissed his forehead and left, following the previous boy’s father. 
The boy took a deep breath and stepped forward, moved reluctantly by the conveyor belt into the dark.

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