It makes me uncomfortable--the things I write

Here is a small scene I wrote for the Fridge Fest in Philadelphia in September. Don't know if they'll use it or not. A and B on couch or in any setting, really, doing anything, really, realistically or stylistically, in a fridge, on a chair, in a box with a fox, etc. A You hear about the kid? B What kid? A They picked him up in the street along with a whole lot of other people. Something happened, I guess near there so they grab a bunch of people nearby. Kid's maybe five or six. You know, he's a kid. He's in the street. B Yeah. A They bring him back and they lock him in this fridge. And they got the dial jacked up so it's almost like a freezer. B Huh. A Kid starts pounding his head against the fridge door, trying to get out. Just really bashing his head, you know? B Yeah. A When they found him, he was blue--head cracked open. B Shit. A And the thing was, they all kind of assumed he was innocent. B But they still-- A Yeah. B Huh.