“What a load of shite!” Yelled Keith. “Ain't no one be turnin’ into smoke when they keel over. Fuckin’ news will talk any rubbish to get people to watch these days.” He continued, as he made his way out of the living room door in disgust.  

Wilfrid didn't respond to Keith’s behaviour. Nay, he didn't even notice that his brother had left the place beside him. His mind was now only fixated on one thing. One incomprehensible, unbelievable, darn right ridiculous, thing.

The predictions had been right after all. However, Wilfrid didn’t remember reading anything about a theory that the living will turn into smoke when they die. Maybe this was the ascension concept that some people believed to be the outcome of this day.

In truth, Wilfrid had actually already forgotten about the great prophecy, that was foretold on this day. He never allowed himself to get too excited for this day, because the chances of anything out of the ordinary happening were laughable low. Thanks to his low expectation, he was able to easily brush of his bitter disappointment when the event (or lack of) came.

In all of his short life, Wilfrid had never been so happy. His forgetfulness of the foreshadowing on this day, made him feel like he had just experienced an early super Christmas.

His heart pounded, and the muscles in his face stretched in pleasure. Chemicals pumped through his body like class-A drugs.

After a few minutes in his blissful trance, Wilfrid awoke. His rationality cropped up once more, and calmed his beating heart.

- Let’s not get too hasty now, Will. This could be one great big hoax, or just some weird but perfectly rational event… They said that it only happens when someone, something dies… So, I guess the only way to find out, is… Is to kill something - Wilfrid solemnly thought to himself.

The thought oddly disturbed him. He had killed many things before without even batting an eyelid. Most of which were much bigger than that spider from earlier. On rare occasions, on the farm, he would be tasked with slaughtering an animal - or two. Or putting a ill beast out its misery. But this was different…There was always a reason for killing things in the past. Even a reason as stupid a fly buzzing too loud. That to him however, seemed more justifiable than killing something for nothing but pure pleasure.

As his mind was a turmoil of morals and emotions, he eventually found peace in seeing it as a mere scientific experiment. He wasn’t killing something for fun, but for the good of science. It was a faulty excuse, Wilfrid knew that well, but it was enough for him to sate his sense of right and wrong.

With his conviction now etched into his heart, Wilfrid ran out of his, in search of prey.

* * * * *

It didn’t take him long until he found a decent sized spider. Wilfrid knew this land like the back of his hand. Which also meant he had a pretty good idea where certain types of unwanted pests lurked. The spider in front of him dwarfed the one that earlier lived on his arm. In fact, even Wilfrid was slightly unnerved by this behemoth. The thing was thick and fat, almost as big as Wilfrid's callus clad hands.  

After staring at the creature for several seconds, Wilfrid cursed. He suddenly realised that he hadn’t brought any tool with him to squash the monster. He left in such a hurry, he didn't have his shoes with him. His feet ached and burned from the cold. The pain didn't other him though, the pain was easily pushed to the back of his mind - replaced with sheer excitement.

Afraid that the spider will disappear in the time it would take for him to find a weapon, he was left with no choice but to use his own body. Wilfrid was uncomfortable touching a spider of this great size. He almost risked losing it by leaving, but the thought of why he was doing this in the first place flashed through his mind.

If what he saw on the TV was true, he couldn't let some insignificant little thing delay him from finding the truth.

He exhaled deeply for a moment, and struck. Unlike the casually slap from earlier, this was a powerful jab of his left fist. Those few boxing lessons he had when he was a kid, were still fresh in his muscles.

Wilfrid physically cringed when he felt the hard dry skin on his knuckles, get drenched in a warm ooze, of various textures.

However, the feeling left as quick as it came. The sight of a small puff of cerulean fog, felt… Orgasmic. The smoke only lasted of a second at most, before mixing and becoming one with the air - vanishing from the eyes of mortals.

In a moment before the smoke vanished, he felt the warm vapour cling to his skin. The feeling was slight, but it felt nice, relaxing, and weirdly energising.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA… IT’S REAL!... IT’S REAL! IT’S REALLY FUCKIN’ REAL..!” Wilfrid roared at the night sky.

* * * * *

Wilfrid ate the wheat-based cereal with a melancholy enthusiasm. His right, devoid of a spoon, crept its way to his face, and clung to his eye. He winced in pain, his cold hand offered little numbness to the stinging sensation.

He remember how he got his black eye very clearly. After discovering the blue smoke was most indeed real, he lost himself in ecstasy causing him to laugh way too hard, and way too loud. His dad had heard him and came to investigate what Wilfrid was making so much racket for. When Wilfrid told about his discovery, his father simply yelled at him. When Wilfrid tried to prove it to his father, by looking for another bug to kill, his father thought he was on some kind of drug, and proceeded to beat him black & blue.

Ever since then, his dad had watched him a hawk - now unable to further learn more about this new death phenomenon.

Wilfrid stared at his dissolved breakfast and sighed.

* * * * *

Seven more days passed since Wilfrid’s eye had swelled and coloured into a gross purple colour. This was the day he planned to go into town, to learn more about the blue smoke. His father had lost interest in him, and enough time had passed for this strange occurrence to affect the whole population.

Wilfrid was desperate to learn more. The day after he heard on the news about the blue smoke, his only television had mysteriously broke. So, for the past week, he had conjured all of his patience and waited. Now, he was finally being rewarded for it.

As he put on his waterproof coat and placed his wool gloves on his fingers, he heard a noise. The noise was faint so he had to strain his ears to be able to make out even a sliver of its contents. It sounded like shouting from a great distance away. Wilfrid had a bad feeling creep up his spine.

He hurriedly went down the stairs, missing a few by jumping most of the way down like a cat. He grabbed his rucksack that was next to the front door, and left.

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Confusion and curiosity invaded his senses. At the far end of his dad’s land was his dad, brothers, and what looked like an angry mob. Wilfrid hesitantly marched towards the group of people.

He was now only a mere fifty feet away from the group. He was dismayed to see, upon closer inspection, his dad and brothers all held weapons in their hands. Dad had the hunting rifle, and his brothers both gripped the two shotguns his dad normally has looked up in a cabinet.

“I’ll say it again… Get the fuck off my land.” Wilfrid heard his father say. It wasn't a pleasant, nor unpleasant tone, and that terrified Wilfrid. His father’s natural speaking voice was very loud and aggressive. Only when he truly got mad, did he voice sound like that of a normal person’s.

“You can’t do this Wilfrid! We’re stavin’; we are! All the meat has gone, and we’re running low on other foods.” Protested a man called James Gilley, a local policemen.

“That’s your own faults.You see some queer shit on the news, an’ you all lose your God damn minds.” His father retorted.

“Anyone would get scared seeing the crazy shit that’s now happen’ in the world!” Yelled Patrick the Postman, who was standing next to James.

“We've got children who are starving!” Yelled a woman in the crowd. A chorus of agreement could be heard from all mouths in the mob.

“Not my problem.” Wilfrid the third huffed.

“How can you be so cruel?!”

“You an’ your family are monsters!”

“I say we just take their livestock by force!”

“Yeah!”

“Let’s do it!”

*BANG*

All went silent. The deafening sound of a shotgun blast, shattered their spirits like glass.

“Why don’t you fuck right off! You ‘eard me dad. He ain’t givin’ ya shit. He warned you about food a week ago, an’ none of you lot listened; did ya?” Shouted Wilfrid's second eldest brother, Henry - who was also responsible for the shotgun fire.

The crowd didn't respond, but if looks could kill, the Wilfrid and his entire family would have collapsed a long time ago.

Just before the angry mob was about the give up, one of them noticed the youngest son, stood a distance away from them.

“How can talk down to us about food, when your little one is so fuckin’ fat!” Yelled the friendly neighbourhood policeman, as he pointed at his new target of interest.

“Me boy’s always bin a fat sack of potatoes. You think a couple days of less food, would suddenly make ‘im skinny?” His father asked.

Wilfrid’s cheeks flushed red and he hanged his head in shame.

The policeman grumbled in protest, but he knew Wilfrid’s logic was sound, so he held his tongue.

A sudden gurgled scream ate the air. The sound came from the barn. All eyes looked in the same direction.

“Willy, go look in the barn. See what’s what.” His father commanded.

“But-”

“Don’t but me, boy. Not at a time like this. Take that pitchfork next to ya.”

“O-okay, dad.”

Wilfrid reluctantly yanked the pitchfork, several feet away from him, out of the ground. It came out with little resistance. He gripped it so tightly, his knuckles turned white.

“What ya waitin’ for? A kiss goodbye? Get out of here.” His father bellowed.

Wilfrid immediately complied and jogged towards the barn.

As he got closer, and his breathing got more ragged. He heard several more primal groans come from the barn. Gathering all of his courage, Wilfrid yanked open the barn door and ran inside.

It was a slaughter house.

Several pigs lied half dead on the straw floor. All squealing in pain and confusion. The rest screamed and ran in circles. Even as the horror invaded Wilfrid’s senses, he was still able to notice that about a third of the pigs were missing - and he had  a pretty good idea as to why.

In the centre of the room was a large man. Thick arms and a protruding gut, suggested this man was used heavy lifting and heavy drinking. His body was covered in blood and guts. His hands wielded a knife and cleaver.

What disturbed Wilfrid the most was the man’s face. His lips were curled up in sheer joy, and eyes shouted wonders. Wilfrid just managed to notice a faint haze of smoke surround the man, before it disappeared. No, it didn’t disappear. It looked like the man’s body was absorbing the vapour cloud.

“I’M SO FUUUUUUL!” The man roared at the barn’s ceiling.

Wilfrid recognized that voice. It was the owner of Ned’s Butchers… Ned.

“Ned..?” Wilfrid foolishly asked.

The man’s head suddenly sprang forward, now staring at the boy.

“My-my, if it isn’t lil’ Willy… What you doin’ ‘ere?” He inquired innocently.

“T-this is my barn…” Wilfrid stuttered in response.

“Oh… So it is. Forget where I was for a second…” He began to stare around the barn in confusion.

Wilfrid rubbed his eyes for a second, in an attempt to see if he would be able to comprehend this situation.

“Hey Willy boy! Killin’ these pigs feel so good! I haven’t feel this good in years… Ya think I’d feel even better, if I killed something with a little more fight in it?”

Wilfrid jumped back. In the seconds he rubbed his eyes, the large burly man had managed to close the distance between them, so quickly and silently.

“Erm...I dno, Ned…” He responded. Deciding it was best to humour the large man.

“Hmmmm… I think it will…” Ned pondered, like he was in deep thought. “Say Willy?” He stared down at the much shorter boy.

“Y-yes Ned?”

“Try not to squeal too loudly, now will ya...”