(My own stab at The Suff urban legend that's been going around for the past few days. This is what I imagine could be the origin story of an alternate universe version of the character, not the main guy who fills our feeds with joy and our hearts with dread.)

I didn't know it then, but for all her faults, Mom was a wise woman.

Don't run with sticks in your mouth.

Don't accept candy from strangers.

Don't pull on your brother's arms, or they'll stretch that way.

Now Teds and I are sitting in our favorite spot–the woods just past our own backyard–flushed in the face and out of breath from the last hour spent trying to get his arms back to a normal size. No use. They're still flopped by his sides like Mom's cooked spaghetti noodles.

A knot's been tightening in my stomach for a while now.

Idiot. Pullin' on your kid brother's arms. You wanted this, y'know. Thought it'd be cool to be able to reach stuff high up, like the candy stash Dad thinks he hides so well. Stupid. Pair a idiots.

Right. 'Cause it's Teds' fault as much as mine. He went along with it with an infectious kinda enthusiasm. But maybe that's what made me pull too hard, or for too long.

He looks alright, but I know in my heart he's gonna suffer. The look on Diesel's face when we go to school tomorrow morning. Teds'll be his target for the rest of eternity. Probably make him trip over his stupid noodle arms, or slam 'em in lockers. Or worse, pull 'em himself and make 'em longer.

And I can't do anything about it. I'm two grades higher. We've never been in the same classes, and I don't know what kinda terrible things I'd have to do to get sent back two grades.

"Clay?"

My eyes snap back into focus on Teds'. He's trying so hard to hide the tears building. I let him believe he's managing.

"What's Mom gonna say?"

"I dunno. She'll probably talk with the paddle rather than her mouth, though. Daddy, too."

"Maybe they could figure out a way to put 'em back."

"Sure."

We sit there in silence again. Something tickles my brain. And I know I shouldn't, but this dark mood's killin' me. And besides, what are big brothers for?

"I got it!"

Teds' head jerks up.

"What? What?"

I point at him with all the enthusiasm I can muster and loudly proclaim,

"Teds is nixed. You're Noodles now."

His face goes from red to white with anger. And I start cacklin' much louder and harder than I should've. But my own tears are buildin', and I gotta do something.

"Jerk!"

He grabs a stone and tries to launch it at me, but he doesn't know how to adjust for those new elongated arms and whacks his hand against a tree trunk on the downswing. He curses. I scramble up to my feet, still pointing.

"Or Suffering! Oooh, The Suff!"

"That's even worse!" Teds gets to his feet surprisingly fast, but I'm already running, quick as my feet will take me. "Hey! Get back here, jerk! This is your fault!"

I yell something back. I don't know what, but something to get his dander up, keep prodding the place that hurts because it's funny. Because maybe it'll help it callous over. Because maybe it'll help him heal.

Thin branches whip across my face. Behind me, I can hear a commotion loud as ten men chasing after me. Teds yelling' and swearing', though I can't make any of it out. And his arms streamin' behind him, catching in bushes and scraping against rough tree trunks, and that makes him swear all the more.

Suffering. The Suff.

With those monstrous long arms, he'll suffer. He'll spend his whole life like that.

But he won't be the only one.