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Such a pretty colour in a boring bottle.
The way the light reflected through the liquid added to its attraction.
Little fingers reached upwards but fell short of the target.
Behind her was a rickety stool.
She dragged it to beneath the shelf, and clambered up.
The glass was cool to the touch and she pulled the cork out, lifting the bottle to her nose, then her lips.
The ambulance sirens were deafening.
The little girl was wrapped in a blanket and held by her weeping mother.
Sobs of ‘I’m sorry’ echoed through the shed.
The bottle lay smashed on the floor, dropped in guilty surprise as the word
‘DON’T!’ was screamed from the doorway.
Better a cut by glass than death by poison.