Sorry this is late guys...but here it is:
“But why?” George asked. As only a child can; honestly and full of awe at the coming answer. Never stopping the round-a-bout path his cycle was going by Grandmother's wheelchair.
“Because, dear, it's a special book...and it's already filled besides.” She replied in a matter of fact way only a loving adult can to a child, hoping he understood.
Stomping his dirty,calloused feet on the concrete George stopped his tricycle and looked down at his brightly colored orange copy of the New Testament. “Oh,” he began, as if learning something for the first time(they've been through this several times. From yellow, to blue to green to black.) “That why there scribbles on it?” He finished pointing to the Words written, not knowing the importance Grandmother held in them. As the words left his mouth the pen in his hand was flicking across the pages.
There go the Warnings of Paul, a three year old cares not for the ravings on an old, dead man. The Wrath of God thrown to the side, written over as if it wasn't there. Nothing Intelligible left except for the doodles of a toddler and no one could read that but him (and maybe a Schizophrenic).
“Oh, dear Lord!” Grandmother exclaims, reaching down and nearly falling out of her chair “George, No!”
But The Child is intent...
Warning after warning, ways to make peace with God.All lost under pen strokes. Circles, and lines overlapping...all nonsense, gibberish.
“That you, me...” he began drawing away as a boy possessed,page after page gone forever. “...Mommy, Sissy, Dada!”
“NO!!!” ,yelled Grandmother, fingers reaching closer to the Book. George knew what to do, he just twisted away from her, but it wasn't quiet enough. She got a hold of an orange flap and pulled. That's when George found the strength of four small boys.
Holy or not, the book was of the mortal realm and couldn't hold up to the twisting and pulling and stretching. It broke.
“Damn it!” Grandmother swore.
Around and around George went, laughing all the while...