Richard’s hands were messy with rainbow wax, scribbling with a red crayon white construction paper. The twelve-year old’s eyes wide as he stared at his creation. He reached for a black crayon, then switched to grab at a yellow. In a quick circle followed by a bit of squiggles, making the most perfect sun he could imagine. He sat at the coffee table, sitting on the ground tuning out the sound of the Sunday morning tv with a bowl of fruity cereal waiting beside his drawing.
He broke away from his drawing, taking a scoop of his fruity cereal, trying not to let it become too soggy but ended up trapping himself. The colorful lights of the television grabbed his attention. Now piling spoonfuls of colorful fruity cereal into his mouth as he watched “Dinosaur Detectives” play mindlessly. With stars in his eyes, he watched Detective Dilophosaurus trot into his office with his trench coat on his shoulders before then seconds busting into the abandoned warehouse of the dastardly, Terrible T-Rex.
When the show ended, he got back to work. Shoving another spoonful into his mouth, only to be met with no more cereal but just the pinkish liquid resting at the bottom of his bowl. Accidentally spilling milk onto his shirt, however, he didn’t have time to clean it. Instead, he just patted it down and started drawing once again.
He was now invigorated, empowered to continue drawing by a steady supply of Sunday cartoons and fruity cereal. Richard grabbed at the coloring box, scrambling for another color, and then when he hadn’t found what he was looking for he smacked his hands against the table. A scowl replacing that focused and doughy-eyed look. He needed a purple—where was the purple? He needed the purple.
Richard’s brain repeated to itself, smacking the table hard once more before he could feel his arm raised before he could smack it onto the table once more.
“Richard.” His uncle, Jack, reprimanded him. Soft and gentle as he held the boy’s arm with a firm grip to prevent it from abusing the table. For a moment, Richard wanted to resist. He wanted to bring all of that lingering anger down onto the table. Yet, the urge subsided, that tightened fist shaking with anger steadily died down into complacence.
“I can’t find the purple.” Richard pouted, seemingly recognizing that he may have overexaggerated. If he could apologize to the table, he would’ve. His eyes stared down to the paper for a couple of seconds, before his uncle ruffled the black messy hair of his nephew.
“That’s what this is about?” His uncle chuckled, messing up the boy’s hair even further. Right after the boy had gotten dizzy from the ruffling, Jack set his arms onto his nephew’s shoulders to stabilize the boy. “What are you drawing… are those–?”
“Dinosaurs!” Richard interrupted, pointing to the drawing of the stick figure dinosaurs, with a pair of dinosaur cowboys riding on the backs of them. The dinosaurs were simple but chaotic, exactly what a child could concoct: cartoonish lizards with spikes along their tails, primarily drawn in green, red and blue.
“The one riding on the big dinosaur is you, and the one riding on the little dinosaur is me. My dinosaur is faster, and you only are a small bit stronger, so my dinosaur is going to win. So, so! You always get me ice cream when I win. That’s my victory reward.” Richard turned to his uncle, giving him an expecting look. He won, so ice cream, right? In the end, he ended up getting his hair ruffled again.
“Only boys who don’t smack the tables get ice cream early in the morning. You shouldn’t be mad at the colors. Why don’t you draw with red and blue to make purple?” Jack asked.
“It doesn’t work like that!” Richard whined. “The colors get all weird and messy and stuff! If you draw over then I need to start over again! The crayons are mean, so it is always so annoying to draw and then one gets lost!” He groaned, grabbing the sides of his head.
Jack brushed the boy’s hands away from his temples, letting out a low chuckle as he watched the boy go through almost a whole breakdown at explaining how difficult it was for him to draw. He was silently worrying, if this is how the kid reacted to things not going the way he wanted, imagine what was going to happen when he was rejected. The dating scene was going to be a living nightmare.
“Fine. Fine.” Jack surrendered, holding out his hands to accentuate it. “We’ll get you some more crayons at the store, and they’ll be the best crayons I can buy for you since I got paid a bit more. Okay, Richie? Come on, get your jacket and put on some shoes. Can’t have you running around with your toes out and freezing. I’ll get you a box of those freezie pops if you get out of the house in five minutes after I get in the car. We can even make burgers on the grill! Come on!” He gave what amounted to a half-salute to the boy as his uncle headed out the door.
Richard didn’t wait to sprint into action, he had already been scrambling and trying to grab for whatever he was looking for. He grabbed the crayon box, tossing it into the trash as a hateful farewell to the box of colors that had given him so much dread a few minutes before.
Taking maybe three minutes to get together, he was pulling the sleeves of his jacket over his arms and almost tripping when he tried to do the same with his shoes, but he did manage to get out that door where his uncle was waiting for him. There was another brief one-sided exchange with Jack ruffling the boy’s hand, and Richard lightly swatting the hand ruffling his hair to little effect.
∎∎∎
Richard sat in the car with his uncle as they drove to the store. The same song played on repeat over the radio. At the same time, each day. Always a random jumble of noises with no lyrics, just beats that sounded like someone was going insane.
“Boo-doo-tsh. Boo-doo-doo tsh. Boo-doo-doo-doo-tsh. Doo-doo thuh.”
It was always one of those sounds that someone used as a refresher. Richard never caught the name of it, he always tried to fall asleep whenever it had come on the radio, and whenever Jack noticed he’d turn it up. Loving playfully terrorizing his nephew. The fun only ended once they got to the store.
Richard climbed out of the truck, in a hurry with his uncle slow to follow behind. Richard had wax on the brain. Just a bit further and he’d be able to have another fresh batch of nicely smelling crayons and freezie sticks.
Then he was slapped by the stench of something unpleasant, worsened when mixing with the cold air. He sharply turned his head to the source, an elderly hobo sitting out in the cold. His clothes were in horrible condition, a winter jacket with oh-so-many holes and different colored stains. The man himself was groggy, staring at the cement pathway. He wasn’t all there, dissociated and incoherent, murmuring too low to be heard. Richard, curious as a cat, decided to test it. Leaning forward to wave a hand in front of the homeless man’s face. Not getting a reaction besides the exasperated cold huffs and murmurs.
“Are you alive…?” Richard questioned, blurting out his concerns to the hobo, squatting down to look at the man face-to-face. The man reacted for the first time, twitching to lift his head slowly to Richard.
He looked dead. His eyes were dull, face withered to the point the flesh of his cheeks sunk to the bone, with patches of stubble and beard by his mouth and numerous zits covering a portion of his face. The zits covered more than what was expected, almost the entire vertical portion of the skin on his head. He let out a raspy cough, mixes of gray saliva and soot spat out in between.
“What lives forever…?” The man coughed, having to strangle out the words. He rested his head back down, staring up as he slouched against the wall to keep an eye on the boy. Gargling on something in his throat with the beady eyes keeping watch.
Richard stared at the old man with confusion. Was this a riddle? Like the ones from Detective Dilophosaurus? He held a hand to his chin, before diverting his attention to the clouds. Time to use all of that critical thinking he had to think about the answer
“I’m so sorry, sir!” Jack exclaimed, lifting Richard off the ground by the pits of his arms. “I’ll take my kid off your hands.” The uncle chuckled, fetching a dollar bill from his pocket and dropping it into the hat that rested in the homeless man’s lap before carrying his nephew off.
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Once the two had entered the store, Jack’s hand smacked hard against the boy’s scalp. Richard brought his hands up to his head, recoiling in pain as he turned to look up to his uncle. He didn’t get the words out, just looking upon his uncle staring down at him, a look of anger and disappointment as he squatted down to face Richard at eye-level.
“Richard, I haven’t taught you this yet. But you can’t just speak to anyone, okay? There are a bunch of loonies out there, some people who would like to have their own nephew who smacks the table when he gets or gets his shirt dirty with cereal in the morning.” He shook his nephew. “Or people like your mom and dad.” He sighed, standing back up to his feet.
“Remember, stranger danger, but danger could also be someone you know. You’ll get better at figuring that out when you grow up. Okay?” He asked, and Richard stood there, perplexed for a moment before following it with a nod. It was only then that his uncle let out a breath of relief and ruffled the boy’s hair. “Good, let’s get back to it.” He exclaimed, smacking the jacket that he wrinkled having to carry Richard into the store.
Richard stayed quiet, following behind his uncle as he pushed the cart, just thinking.
It was only a few minutes into their shopping that he had given up, raising his head to his uncle. “Uncle Jack, what lives forever?” Richard asked, turning his head up to his uncle.
His uncle shot the boy with a confused look, he really hoped that a twelve-year-old wasn’t questioning his own mortality, or even worse, becoming a philosopher.
“Eh, maybe toys? They’re made of plastic and junk.” He chuckled a bit, but that answer wasn’t good enough. Richard was still thinking.
“My toys break.”
“Jellyfish?” Jack replied, though he himself was unsure of his answer.
“Jellyfish can live forever?!” Richard questioned, now a bit more intrigued. “Wait, what if a dinosaur gets them—like a turtle?”
“Turtles aren’t dinosaurs… but, you’re not wrong. Turtles can eat them. Don’t got an answer, buuuuut maybe we can figure that out when we get home. You can even draw it up. What about a toy jellyfish?” Jack chuckled, and though it took a while, Richard laughed with his uncle. That was an okay answer… for now.
As the two finished shopping, having grabbed whatever groceries they needed, including what they came here for. The prized crayons and freezie sticks. They were hauling their bounty out from the store, but at the entrance by the sliding doors of the store stood the homeless man. He lingered there with a crowd hesitating to pass him. He let out those same heavy breaths of cold air and soot, dead eyes staring down at the floor. Jack pulled the cart back, recoiling as Richard followed his uncle.
The homeless man swayed as he mumbled something under his breath, confusion visible on Jack’s face. He then continued pushing the cart, moving one of his hands off the bar and onto Richard’s shoulder to bring him closer. As they made their way to the doors and past the crowd, the homeless man’s arm reached to grab at Richard’s shoulder in response, almost fully pulling him away from Jack.
“Nothing…” He murmured, confusing the two. Yet, now when they both looked at the homeless man’s face, those zits covering one half of the man’s face were swelling. Growing darker and darker, larger and larger. The moment Jack pulled Richard away, the zits had popped into a burst of smoldering ash. The smoke spread throughout the entirety of the store’s entrance, assaulting their lungs and skin. To Richard it was just some overwhelming burn that assaulted his skin, to Jack it was the familiar taste and asphyxiation that came with tobacco. As if he had just smoked two cartons of cigars in one go.
Richard’s eyes were stinging, crying out to his uncle as they both were coughing up something foul. When he gained control over his vision, he could see his uncle shielding him with his body.
“Uncle Jack!” Richard called out, seeing the pained wince on the man’s face. The two had been blasted away from the man, the ash having enough power to blast them back. The crowd erupted, many screaming to break out the store at the first boom and the rising ash. Alarms immediately activated as people scrambled both far into and out of the store to try getting as far as they could away in the chaos of a deranged Key; the two were the unlucky ones to get trapped by the front.
Jack grimaced, plucking his nephew from the floor as he began scurrying forward dragging his soles against the floor. The homeless man limped behind, vomiting black and brown ash from his mouth, letting it ignite in a trail of deathly smog behind him. His body looked like it was crumbly, nearing the stages of falling apart. His entire jacket had been burnt away, revealing a torso that was clumps of black powder compressed together. The more he moved, the more likely it seemed that his body was going to give and drop onto piles of black dirt against the ground like grains of sand. Yet, despite looking so broken, his focus was still there as if moving on autopilot. Eyes trained on the boy and his uncle, holding his hand out. The memory of them so recent in his deprecating mind, bringing him to search for them.
“Uncle Jack!” Richard called, not receiving an answer as his uncle ran with the boy in his arms.
“Uncle!” He called again.
“Jack!” He called again, smacking his hands against his uncle’s chest.
“What Richard!?” He shouted in return, watching as a blackened zit about the size of a soccer ball floated in their direction. Then a smaller one, and another, all until there were about five inconsistently sized ashen zits around them before popping–all releasing shrouds of that smoldering and asphyxiating ash.
“Richard… Are… are you fine?” Jack coughed; body still taken by large quantities of the smoke.
“I’m hot…” Richard’s body had been thrown to the side and into the aisles by his uncle. Pieces of his jacket melting into his skin. He was sweating something fierce, and he wasn’t even the one running, feeling as if he was burning in his winter clothes. Yet, he could still move. He wanted to ask his uncle the same, but it was at that time he could see that a portion of the ash had already passed.
His uncle had been standing there. The left side of his face was covered in blisters and third-degree burns, blood trickling down his mouth and a portion of his clothing had stuck onto his skin. One eye seemed dead, no longer capable of looking at him as the other looked to Richard.
“Richard…” His uncle spoke, he almost fell forward but caught himself on his knee as he approached his nephew. “I know the answer…” He coughed out, smiling as blood came from his mouth. A smile formed on his lips.
“A memory, that’s the answer. You’re going to grow up and say it’s cheesy. But… memories will live forever, so remember my lessons. Okay? Your uncle… has to do something now.” He pulled out his wallet from the right side of his pocket, handing it weakly to the boy. “I might not be able to make you burgers. When you get out of this, go buy some when this is done. It’s on me. Stay here, be a good kid, when I walk off go find somewhere better to hide.” He advised, smiling as he pushed Richard into the shelf of the aisle before limping away.
Richard was ready to call out to his uncle, trying to crawl out from the now unassorted pile of canned vegetables he was shoved into; however, the smoke in his lungs stopped him. Even if he was prepared to speak, it was the sight of the homeless man walking in the direction his uncle had gone that fully made him shut his mouth. Not wanting to be hurt again. He wanted to go for his uncle, but that man was a monster. He grew increasingly fearful of denying his uncle’s order when the man was hurt. So, he listened, not wanting to get just as hurt as his uncle. With the words from his uncle as fuel for his courage, he brought himself to pick himself up and move out the aisle.
He needed to find somewhere better to hide and be a good kid.
So, he ran, and he ran. Ran as the fire alarms in the store had gone off to trigger the sprinklers. They didn’t stop the smoke, just the fires that had been triggered. He searched, going wherever the fire wasn’t. He ran toward a door, and that door opened for him. “Security and Surveillance Room'' it read, with a dozen other people looking at the boy. Just as scared as the boy. Only opening the door so he could hide. He ran into the room.
Inside the room, he was safe. He wasn’t being soaked by the sprinklers and could take a moment to drop to his feet for a moment longer as he let off raspy coughs. An older lady had leaned forward, handing the boy a bottle of water so he could at least try and recover. Giving him moments to catch the breath that he had been just fighting for. Besides the elderly woman, there were a couple of other shoppers and employees, huddled together as they watched the screens. Confused and intrigued, he approached, he wanted to see where his uncle had been. His uncle asked him to go find somewhere to hide, he found a place, but where was his uncle?
It didn’t take long to find him, he followed the eyes, everyone seemed to be looking at him. The man who had been covered head-to-toe in burn marks, and the thing walking right behind him. Both limped, but it seemed that Jack had just a bit more fight in him to give him the ability to press forward. All the way into the aisle in which they had gone to buy the fuel for their burgers. Jack laid there, staring at the floor of the store before slumping down onto the ground right beside one of the tanks.
“Get up…” Richard begged as he watched the monitor, watching as the hobo stepped into the scene. Dragging a trail of fire and ash behind it. Multiple zits had come apart, floating towards Jack as the man laid there, with one hand on the tank. Jack didn’t move, instead he just lifted his head a fraction to watch as numerous zit bubbles approached him, before it popped. The camera went down as the entire aisle exploded in flames, an explosion which could be felt from the security room.
Richard became manic, grabbing at the monitor with a look of urgency.
“UNCLE JACK!” He screamed, watching as the camera would flicker occasionally, its broken lens showing nothing but flames that were being dealt with by the dying sprinkler system. He tried running for the door, but an employee grabbed him.
They said something to him, but Richard couldn’t hear, only trying his best to run through that door. He wanted to go see his uncle.