What's Wrong With Freddie

The boy screamed, his tiny fists balled up in rage that threatened to consume him. Mouth stretched nearly wide enough to swallow himself whole. He did this all the time.

His mother and father looked at each other, bewildered and nervous. Is this normal? they asked. His older sister, now three, had never been like this.

Friends and family brushed it off, saying it's normal for newborn babies to cry. "He's just colicky," they said. "He'll grow out of it."

The parents felt in their (ohsotired) bones it was not normal, yet the doctor said the same. She gave him a clean bill of health. They pressed for every test imaginable, until she became impatient. "Colic," she said. "There's a virus going around. Have you been letting others kiss him?"

The baby grew, and screamed, and grew, and screamed, until he started walking. He went from a screeching immobile lump to a silent, wide-eyed child who took confident steps. He only bawled when they picked him up, or put him down to sleep.

He didn't talk either. He just stared. And he broke things. His favourite things to break were his sister's dolls. He picked them up by the legs and swung them hard into the wall, or onto the kitchen tiles (never carpet), and he stared at you while at he did it. He'd do it until it was broken, or bashed in beyond repair, then never touch it again.

When all the dolls were broken or put out of his reach, he moved on to other toys, preferably those with a face. Teddies were the worst, because there was no end to it. Swing, thump, stare. Swing, thump, stare.

When he couldn't find a toy to break, he'd break anything else he could get his hands on in just the same way.

The father's face was lined and grey, his fuse short. The mother trembled.

When he was four, he spoke at last. In full sentences. "But why do you do that, Freddie?" they asked him.

"To tell you."

"Tell us what?"

"That's what they did to me. That's how I died. That's what I dream about."

The parents stared, and worried about school.

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + Word count, excluding note: 366 Submitted on Sunday 16th June at 11.50

*Quick Author's Note* First, and most importantly: thank you so much for reading my story! The ha'penny that Vocal will toss in my hat for your eyeballs landing on this humble piece will be well-spent.

If you enjoyed this one, the very best compliment you can give me is to share it, or read another!

A Year of Stories: I'm writing a story every day this year. This one continues my 168 day streak since 1st January.

Please do consider lending your support to the other creators who are also on this madcap "a story every day" adventure. They are putting out excellent content every day!

Rachel Deeming

Gerard DiLeo

The story behind the story: Since it's Fathers' Day, I wanted to do a story about parenting. I've been wanting to try one in the style of "We Need To Talk About Kevin" for a while. I hope you enjoyed it!

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Thank you! Thank you again, most sincerely. Especially if you are one of the wonderful people who has been staunchly reading these daily scribbles since the start of the year. I see you, and appreciate you very much indeed! 😁 + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +