He dreamed of being home. Of the smell of the musty couch, and the hum of the TV while smoke filtered out of his nose. Fred dreamed of the survival show he'd been watching while the world faded with him.
He'd been waiting for Daddy to come by.
Some guy on TV had been stuck in the desert for a week with no food or water. He'd sneered as the man found a way to collect his own urine to drink, recycling it until it started to thicken.
He'd nearly barfed as the man crunched on bugs, and the actor portraying him looked as ill as Fred felt.
How stupid, he had thought, that you traveled so far alone. How irresponsible are you?
Did you not plan for this? What will your family think?
-
It was moments later, or maybe hours, that he woke with the same thought in his head. He couldn't bring himself to enter the cafe. Not as dirty as he was.
But his tongue was dry and heavy in his mouth.
Fred pulled himself up, and watched some girl throw away a latte. He heard the thunk as it hit the bottom of the newly changed trash. There was still something in it.
The blonde made his way over, grasping the edges of the can before he dug through and cradled the cup to his lips like it was the most precious thing he'd ever encountered.
-
“You're an asshole.”
Fred had never really thought of living until he heard those words. Until he saw the curled lips and the feral look. Something that twisted in his gut as sure as a knife would, and he reacted.
It was probably the first fight he'd been in where he had something to loose.
He had gained something. Or at least in his mind he had.
-
The latte had burned his tongue, but temporarily soothed the ache in his mouth. One fire smothered though not out.
He felt clearer today. Perhaps he was trading clarity for strength.
Was the staircase that long when he had come down it?
Fred started up it while he chafed at his arms, and once he reached the top he looked around. He needed a public restroom. Someplace to clean himself up.
He needed a place to buy shoes. As soon as he realized he needed them, the skin on his soles burned and his toes ached. His skin was black with dirt and blue with cold. How much money did he have left? He fumbled with the bills as he unearthed them from his pocket, and tried his best to keep them from being caught by the wind.
$37
Rat
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Albert (DELETED 8945)
- Posts: 13
- Joined: 28 Oct 2016, 02:00
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Albert (DELETED 8945)
- Posts: 13
- Joined: 28 Oct 2016, 02:00
Re: Rat
Cleaning up in the dingy restroom sink was hard. Hard because the pearls of water that dribbled across his skin reminded him of the flat, slick shell of beetles.
And things were crawling again
Through his hair, over his skin. He was making a scene, trying to brush it all out.
He was exhausted.
-
Cheerio was back again. Fred squinted at the orange tabby through the screen of his apartment window before he finally opened it, and let the cat in. He was greasy, matted, and purring so obnoxiously that it was ruining his buzz. “Where'd you go, you little asshole?”
He'd scolded the cat for a good ten minutes while scrubbing the burrs from his fur. He even picked a few fleas, and toweled him off until he was fluffy and shiny. Cheerio had never looked better. He had never felt better.
The cat stretched out across the counter before hopping down and taking up residence in his favorite spot.
Daddy's chosen spot.
-
He'd been yelled at for entering the store without shoes. As if the grime on his coat and hospital gown weren't enough insult.
“I know I have no shoes. I need to buy some shoes.”
He had to physically show the merchant the money he carried so he wouldn't be rushed off. And even that didn't look like it was going to be enough persuasion.
But he found a stupid pair of slippers for $13 and tax. A pair of fleece sweats for $8 and tax.
He figured he had about $12 left.
He grabbed a gallon of water and a box of Poptarts. His arms were sore by the time he reached the counter.
And things were crawling again
Through his hair, over his skin. He was making a scene, trying to brush it all out.
He was exhausted.
-
Cheerio was back again. Fred squinted at the orange tabby through the screen of his apartment window before he finally opened it, and let the cat in. He was greasy, matted, and purring so obnoxiously that it was ruining his buzz. “Where'd you go, you little asshole?”
He'd scolded the cat for a good ten minutes while scrubbing the burrs from his fur. He even picked a few fleas, and toweled him off until he was fluffy and shiny. Cheerio had never looked better. He had never felt better.
The cat stretched out across the counter before hopping down and taking up residence in his favorite spot.
Daddy's chosen spot.
-
He'd been yelled at for entering the store without shoes. As if the grime on his coat and hospital gown weren't enough insult.
“I know I have no shoes. I need to buy some shoes.”
He had to physically show the merchant the money he carried so he wouldn't be rushed off. And even that didn't look like it was going to be enough persuasion.
But he found a stupid pair of slippers for $13 and tax. A pair of fleece sweats for $8 and tax.
He figured he had about $12 left.
He grabbed a gallon of water and a box of Poptarts. His arms were sore by the time he reached the counter.
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Albert (DELETED 8945)
- Posts: 13
- Joined: 28 Oct 2016, 02:00
Re: Rat
He'd ditched the hospital gown in a rubbish bin and now his jacket sat a little more comfortably on his thin shoulders.
He must've lost weight. It used to be a good fit. Just enough he could keep a hoodie beneath it.
Now it felt like he could almost fit another coat in it. He should have looked at the prices.
-
“Al, Albert! You hold mommy's hand right now!”
He had run further ahead. Gary was walking ahead. He walked with brisk, long strides. If he could just catch up, he would be noticed.
He jerked backward and the vice on his hand felt like it was going to break his fingers.
His eyes watered.
“What did mommy just tell you?! You don't get to run off like that!”
“Susan, let the boy be.”
“Gary, if he runs off-”
“Let the boy be.”
He wiped at his eyes and sniffled. If he had been faster, he could have walked beside dad.
-
He wanted to go home. Toronto seemed so far away now that he didn't have money for a ticket. He couldn't even bum a cab.
Fred couldn't even be sure that he would have money to pay them back with. The badges probably sacked his apartment.
They probably took the good stuff.
He'd forgotten about the vodka until then.
The stupid ******* frosted bottle of vodka.
The blonde's chest hurt, but all he could do was laugh. Laugh, and laugh, and laugh.
If he ever saw Baxter again, he would break it over his head.
He must've lost weight. It used to be a good fit. Just enough he could keep a hoodie beneath it.
Now it felt like he could almost fit another coat in it. He should have looked at the prices.
-
“Al, Albert! You hold mommy's hand right now!”
He had run further ahead. Gary was walking ahead. He walked with brisk, long strides. If he could just catch up, he would be noticed.
He jerked backward and the vice on his hand felt like it was going to break his fingers.
His eyes watered.
“What did mommy just tell you?! You don't get to run off like that!”
“Susan, let the boy be.”
“Gary, if he runs off-”
“Let the boy be.”
He wiped at his eyes and sniffled. If he had been faster, he could have walked beside dad.
-
He wanted to go home. Toronto seemed so far away now that he didn't have money for a ticket. He couldn't even bum a cab.
Fred couldn't even be sure that he would have money to pay them back with. The badges probably sacked his apartment.
They probably took the good stuff.
He'd forgotten about the vodka until then.
The stupid ******* frosted bottle of vodka.
The blonde's chest hurt, but all he could do was laugh. Laugh, and laugh, and laugh.
If he ever saw Baxter again, he would break it over his head.
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Albert (DELETED 8945)
- Posts: 13
- Joined: 28 Oct 2016, 02:00
Re: Rat
It was quiet for now.
As quiet as the place could be. There was always the sound of traffic, the hum of electricity.
He felt sick again. The 50th Anniversary flavored Pop-Tart had already wound its way from his stomach to the ground. Now it felt like his stomach lining was determined to join it.
-
"Hey dad, I got a job."
"Hn.."
That was all he ever said. It was the extent of every conversation in the Knox house before Susan passed away. If anything, he used to get a second syllable.
Fred watched as the older man typed furiously at the keyboard of his laptop on the dinner table. The keys clicked like they were being smashed. He wondered how they hadn't broken yet. He fancied that this particular computer had been designed just for the man using it.
Just for Gary Knox.
His sunny hair was beginning to marble with grey as the only outward sign of his forty-three years. His smile was still as dazzling as the wedding picture he shared with his deceased wife. The woman who had slowly faded until she fell out of the picture entirely.
Did Gary even go to the funeral? Fred couldn't remember. He didn't remember much these days, and his teachers had started to ride him for it. So he stopped going to school.
Gary didn't notice.
Fred stopped eating.
Gary didn't notice.
Fred stopped coming home.
Gary never noticed.
-
He wiped the spit from the corner of his mouth. He'd had nothing left to heave so only acid came out. Fred sank down against the building and rested his head back against the brick.
He was going to die here.
Baxter wasn't going to find him.
They'd clean his carcass off the pavement.
And he was sure Gary wouldn't notice the headline.
He closed his eyes and picked up his jug of water to take a sip. He just needed a nap.
Shrug it off, Knox. You're better than this.
As quiet as the place could be. There was always the sound of traffic, the hum of electricity.
He felt sick again. The 50th Anniversary flavored Pop-Tart had already wound its way from his stomach to the ground. Now it felt like his stomach lining was determined to join it.
-
"Hey dad, I got a job."
"Hn.."
That was all he ever said. It was the extent of every conversation in the Knox house before Susan passed away. If anything, he used to get a second syllable.
Fred watched as the older man typed furiously at the keyboard of his laptop on the dinner table. The keys clicked like they were being smashed. He wondered how they hadn't broken yet. He fancied that this particular computer had been designed just for the man using it.
Just for Gary Knox.
His sunny hair was beginning to marble with grey as the only outward sign of his forty-three years. His smile was still as dazzling as the wedding picture he shared with his deceased wife. The woman who had slowly faded until she fell out of the picture entirely.
Did Gary even go to the funeral? Fred couldn't remember. He didn't remember much these days, and his teachers had started to ride him for it. So he stopped going to school.
Gary didn't notice.
Fred stopped eating.
Gary didn't notice.
Fred stopped coming home.
Gary never noticed.
-
He wiped the spit from the corner of his mouth. He'd had nothing left to heave so only acid came out. Fred sank down against the building and rested his head back against the brick.
He was going to die here.
Baxter wasn't going to find him.
They'd clean his carcass off the pavement.
And he was sure Gary wouldn't notice the headline.
He closed his eyes and picked up his jug of water to take a sip. He just needed a nap.
Shrug it off, Knox. You're better than this.
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Albert (DELETED 8945)
- Posts: 13
- Joined: 28 Oct 2016, 02:00
Re: Rat
Fred was losing track of time.
He was pretty sure that he'd only been on the run (streets) for a few days though.
He still had most of his Pop-Tarts after all.
His lips were chapped and they split as he forced them apart to take a sip of water. Just a small one.
Small ones he could keep down.
He wiped the back of his hand across his forehead to clear some of the sweat and grime from it just before he was struck by another fit of chills.
-
"Why would you ever want to live in a dump like this?"
He hadn't answered Gerald when the man had asked him. He had asked instead that the old man put the money down on the security deposit, and compared it to the shabby hotel they'd been sneaking into together.
"Do you even have anything to bring here?"
He had a mattress, and had found a dresser for cheap. He might even be able to get the coffee table, but that was none of Gerald's business. "How's the wife?"
It was the same question he always asked when the old man started to get picky with his choices. Anytime the grey-haired man dug a little too deep.
They didn't lick each others wounds. They ripped off scabs.
"She's due." Of course she was, wife two.
-
There was a thought that kept bubbling up in the back of his mind. Like white noise in the way it sat without him paying it any mind.
Though it just got louder, and louder.
Louder with every heartbeat.
With every hour.
He's not going to find you.
Fred pushed it away and chafed his hands together. The tips of his fingers were numbed but he tried to get feeling in them anyway. And once he nearly had- he felt it again.
They were crawling.
He was pretty sure that he'd only been on the run (streets) for a few days though.
He still had most of his Pop-Tarts after all.
His lips were chapped and they split as he forced them apart to take a sip of water. Just a small one.
Small ones he could keep down.
He wiped the back of his hand across his forehead to clear some of the sweat and grime from it just before he was struck by another fit of chills.
-
"Why would you ever want to live in a dump like this?"
He hadn't answered Gerald when the man had asked him. He had asked instead that the old man put the money down on the security deposit, and compared it to the shabby hotel they'd been sneaking into together.
"Do you even have anything to bring here?"
He had a mattress, and had found a dresser for cheap. He might even be able to get the coffee table, but that was none of Gerald's business. "How's the wife?"
It was the same question he always asked when the old man started to get picky with his choices. Anytime the grey-haired man dug a little too deep.
They didn't lick each others wounds. They ripped off scabs.
"She's due." Of course she was, wife two.
-
There was a thought that kept bubbling up in the back of his mind. Like white noise in the way it sat without him paying it any mind.
Though it just got louder, and louder.
Louder with every heartbeat.
With every hour.
He's not going to find you.
Fred pushed it away and chafed his hands together. The tips of his fingers were numbed but he tried to get feeling in them anyway. And once he nearly had- he felt it again.
They were crawling.
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Albert (DELETED 8945)
- Posts: 13
- Joined: 28 Oct 2016, 02:00
Re: Rat
Fred spilled over the tar of the alley and curled up on something. Paper? Maybe. His body shivered but it had become something like white noise in the background of his mind. He'd detached himself from his physical holdings.
His breathing was labored and he felt like waste.
-
"Mommy's going to go away for a while, Albert."
She was always going away. She was always shutting herself in her sewing room. The kitchen. The bathroom. He could hear her crying most nights but checking on her was something he never did.
"Be strong for mommy, okay? We'll see each other eventually."
He wondered if weakness was genetic. If he would someday waste away because his mother had, and who knew what happened to Grandma Jean. "Okay, mom."
She's smiled at him and it was the first time he'd ever seen tears in her face. She looked old then. Tired.
-
He felt tired. How long had he been out here like this? He grit his teeth and pulled himself up to his legs as he shook all over again- this time from the effort it took on his beaten body.
This is why you never depend on anyone.
He felt sick at the thought. What had he been thinking? He rubbed over his face and felt the start of another bad trip flicker through the back of his mind. He breathed out, tried to calm himself, and breathed in again. Fred cursed himself over and over as his stiff limbs moved clumsily to comply with any simple order he gave them. Left, right. Straight ahead.
His eyes focused and unfocused on street signs as he shuffled onto the street, and looked around again. He would follow signs for the hospital. Turn himself in.
He'd go back to Toronto, serve time if it came to it.
He'd do whatever.
Not look back.
His breathing was labored and he felt like waste.
-
"Mommy's going to go away for a while, Albert."
She was always going away. She was always shutting herself in her sewing room. The kitchen. The bathroom. He could hear her crying most nights but checking on her was something he never did.
"Be strong for mommy, okay? We'll see each other eventually."
He wondered if weakness was genetic. If he would someday waste away because his mother had, and who knew what happened to Grandma Jean. "Okay, mom."
She's smiled at him and it was the first time he'd ever seen tears in her face. She looked old then. Tired.
-
He felt tired. How long had he been out here like this? He grit his teeth and pulled himself up to his legs as he shook all over again- this time from the effort it took on his beaten body.
This is why you never depend on anyone.
He felt sick at the thought. What had he been thinking? He rubbed over his face and felt the start of another bad trip flicker through the back of his mind. He breathed out, tried to calm himself, and breathed in again. Fred cursed himself over and over as his stiff limbs moved clumsily to comply with any simple order he gave them. Left, right. Straight ahead.
His eyes focused and unfocused on street signs as he shuffled onto the street, and looked around again. He would follow signs for the hospital. Turn himself in.
He'd go back to Toronto, serve time if it came to it.
He'd do whatever.
Not look back.
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Albert (DELETED 8945)
- Posts: 13
- Joined: 28 Oct 2016, 02:00
Re: Rat
It's been a long *** time but someone left a **** ton of things at the old apartment in his name.
He doesn't live there anymore. He hasn't for a while.
It got mailed, crossed an ocean, to rest where he slept now. Messages, gems, a bank account statement. The sapphires are wrapped up and tucked in a bundle of tinfoil. Not because he believes there's any way it's going to keep him from being thrown into some kind of British prison if he's found with them (they're probably stolen), but because it makes throwing them in a backpack easier and there's no ziploc bags around here.
Either Fred or his roommate have to go to the store soon. The trash bag is just a paper bag from the liquor store that's hanging out in the bottom of the bin.
But the point here is it's been a long *** time since he's been in Canada, since he's thought about it, since he got lost and sick and ran.
Canada feels like it was ages ago.
Somehow his old landlord, queen of hoarding, kept on to the new address and now all this **** shows up. There's **** from Bax in here and that's what pisses him off the most.
Bax.
He mutters a heavy '**** you' at the tin foil wad before stuffing it into his backpack with the apron of his Starbucks uniform and hat.
He doesn't live there anymore. He hasn't for a while.
It got mailed, crossed an ocean, to rest where he slept now. Messages, gems, a bank account statement. The sapphires are wrapped up and tucked in a bundle of tinfoil. Not because he believes there's any way it's going to keep him from being thrown into some kind of British prison if he's found with them (they're probably stolen), but because it makes throwing them in a backpack easier and there's no ziploc bags around here.
Either Fred or his roommate have to go to the store soon. The trash bag is just a paper bag from the liquor store that's hanging out in the bottom of the bin.
But the point here is it's been a long *** time since he's been in Canada, since he's thought about it, since he got lost and sick and ran.
Canada feels like it was ages ago.
Somehow his old landlord, queen of hoarding, kept on to the new address and now all this **** shows up. There's **** from Bax in here and that's what pisses him off the most.
Bax.
He mutters a heavy '**** you' at the tin foil wad before stuffing it into his backpack with the apron of his Starbucks uniform and hat.
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Albert (DELETED 8945)
- Posts: 13
- Joined: 28 Oct 2016, 02:00
Re: Rat
It's benign they say, but they don't know that for sure. It's been a lump the size of an infant's small fist for a while now and he's not too sure it hasn't grown. Middle-aged people in business casual, yacht clothes, and a white overcoat think they know everything. But do they know if it grew? No one knows for sure.
All anyone knows is that it needs to come out.
It'll come out, obviously, because he's already working through Plan A, Plan B, and Plan B-1. He's already saving tips and earnings, which is a lot easier now that he's not paying rent, and he's saved up enough to pay for the trip and procedure himself.
He won't be paying a dime, but he likes to think he would be. There's this thing about pride, and Fred doesn't have much of it left, but what little he does have likes to imagine he'd be able to pay his way.
Not today, though. Not for this.
Mister named the tumor. He named it Marshall. Marshall with two 'L's because one just wasn't enough. One 'L' is never enough.
Nothing is ever enough and that's why everyone's so God damn greedy. It's not hustle, it's anxiety. It's not motivation, it's fear. Insecurities made into #goals and Fred's standing there in the mirror with his thumb and index finger cupped around this baby-fist sized tumor between his third and fourth rib.
Mister said not to squeeze it. What if it popped like a spider's egg sack and a bunch of little tumors popped out? Fred knew that wouldn't happen, but what did anyone know anymore?
He just knew he'd be going on an unwelcome vacation where the souvenir he'd bring home was a small jar of Marshall Knox.
All anyone knows is that it needs to come out.
It'll come out, obviously, because he's already working through Plan A, Plan B, and Plan B-1. He's already saving tips and earnings, which is a lot easier now that he's not paying rent, and he's saved up enough to pay for the trip and procedure himself.
He won't be paying a dime, but he likes to think he would be. There's this thing about pride, and Fred doesn't have much of it left, but what little he does have likes to imagine he'd be able to pay his way.
Not today, though. Not for this.
Mister named the tumor. He named it Marshall. Marshall with two 'L's because one just wasn't enough. One 'L' is never enough.
Nothing is ever enough and that's why everyone's so God damn greedy. It's not hustle, it's anxiety. It's not motivation, it's fear. Insecurities made into #goals and Fred's standing there in the mirror with his thumb and index finger cupped around this baby-fist sized tumor between his third and fourth rib.
Mister said not to squeeze it. What if it popped like a spider's egg sack and a bunch of little tumors popped out? Fred knew that wouldn't happen, but what did anyone know anymore?
He just knew he'd be going on an unwelcome vacation where the souvenir he'd bring home was a small jar of Marshall Knox.