cal who has always been strangely attracted to death.
his first physical exposure to it was at a family member’s funeral. the person was old and died of natural causes, and the first thing cal noticed when he saw them lying in the casket was how peaceful they looked. he’d heard stories of death, of how scary it can be and how you have to avoid it at all costs. now, he was confused. how could someone look so nice if they went through something so dangerous?
his next physical exposure to it was when he was first allowed into the front passenger seat of his dad’s car. it was a hot summer day, so the windows were rolled down. his hair became messy in the wind and covered his eyes, but between the flashes of blond, he saw something on the side of the road: a smushed cat. this is what he expected death to look like—bloody, wet, and gross. when he breathed in as they passed the carcass, he could smell decay and destruction. he loved it.
his dad saw him staring and grabbed his sleeve to yank him further into the car. he rolled up cal’s window and told him to not look at those kinds of things. cal wondered why he should avoid something so cool, so interesting.
from then on, he took great interest in the newspaper, reading through the obituaries of older folks and the occasional young person. when he was supposed to be in his backyard playing on the trampoline or the swings, he was traveling further into the woods that lay behind the house. he would grin when he found dead animals. he would poke at the animals with whatever sticks or leaves he could find.
one time, he kicked a dead squirrel with his foot, which left blood on the toe of his shoe. he hid the shoes in the back of his closet, only getting them out when he was alone and could touch, smell, and see the dried gore. he was obsessed.
a couple months after his 18th birthday, death surrounds him. he sits on his knees with a gun in his mouth. he slips a tiny bit on his victims’ blood that stuck to his pants and boots. he convinces the boy next to him, his best friend, to join him in death. as he pulls the trigger, he is delighted with what he has created, or rather, what he has killed.
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