Descent

Stray

Fred had called out sick again, but this time he really was ill.

He'd been lying in bed all day, unable to bring himself to get off his mattress except for when he slumped off to the bathroom to get sick. His stomach was in knots, his heart even more so. Seeing Elizabeth with another man had completely wrecked his already fragile mental state. Now all he could do was grieve.

He hadn't been this upset over something since he was a young boy. As a child, he'd met a stray cat that frequented the convenience store Papa Elsh had owned. Fred would sneak cat food from the store to give to the stray despite his father's protests. His Papa Elsh would scold him, beat him, do everything in his power to stop Fred from stealing his store's inventory, but Fred was determined to make sure his little friend was taken care of.

It was an unusual thing to refer to an animal as your friend, but it was a friendship that Fred was more than thankful for. That little cat had never seen Fred as incompetent or weird like the other kids did. It saw him as its caretaker, as someone it could rely on for help when it was needed. It made him feel wanted and special.

Unfortunately for Fred, their friendship didn't last long. The cruel game of life had to screw him over. Just like it always did.

Papa Elsh had taken Fred out to the street in front of the convenience store. Fred's friend was lying limply on the side of the curb, a pool of blood soaking its body as it lay lifeless against the pavement. Its once soft fur was now caked with crusty bits of black and dark red, its limbs sprawled in all directions and its half lidded eyes glazed over.

"Looks like the stupid thing tried to play Frogger," his father had murmured while shaking his head.

Fred had picked up the animal, cradling it in his arms as he bit back tears. This was his first time experiencing death firsthand and it was absolutely earth shattering. His only friend was dead. Reduced to roadkill on the side of the street.

"That's just life, Freddy," his father had said to him apathetically, patting him on the back roughly, a failed attempt at comfort. "Things die. Nothing you can do but move on."

And move on he did. It was hard and it took a while, but eventually the cat had become a distant and nearly forgotten memory. From that day on, Fred had been terrified to get behind a wheel, a fear he still lived with to this day. He never wanted to hit an animal with his car or subject something to that kind of fate. That animal could have been somebody's friend, and he didn't want anyone to have to feel the heartbreak he did with the cat.

There was something off about the stray's death though, one thing he could never really figure out. Papa Elsh had said the cat was hit by a car... but that didn't explain the small hole Fred had seen in the back of its head.

Papa Elsh was a very strict man. He had very high expectations, and if they weren't met, there would be hell to pay. He was especially hard on Fred due to his lack of understanding of the world around him. According to Mama Elsh, Fred didn't start talking until he was three, and that wasn't normal. Papa Elsh hated everything abnormal about him. One small screw up would set him off in an instant, leading to many moments where Fred was at the mercy of the man.

He couldn't count on his fingers how many times he had gotten the belt from his father. Papa Elsh would lock him in his room and make him sit and think about his mistakes before coming in to execute his beating. Papa Elsh would occasionally peek into the room with a glare and say, "Keep waiting, boy. I'll whip you when I'm ready."

Fred recalled how fearful those moments had been. Sitting nervously on his bed with his head hung low, feeling like a lamb waiting to be taken to the slaughter. He didn't want to be hurt. He didn't mean to make mistakes or be bad. Why did Papa Elsh have to be so mean? Why couldn't he understand like Mama Elsh did?