Member-only story
Fred is dead
Goodbye, My Sweet Fred
He was there for me every morning, fluttering through life as if always high — high above the rest of us, that is. I wasn’t always so high like he, but man would he inspire me to uplift my spirits no matter what, just like he might. Just like he did.
He waved an enthusiastic hello every damn evening too, despite his scarred injuries (the injuries perhaps giving him a mirage of horrifying pasts) he wore proudly like armor that might suggest his life has been pretty difficult and not at all enthusiastic. His showing them off revealed to me how brave he was, having survived such a traumatic past yet still soaring through life as if it’s the most beautiful gift ever to be had. Perhaps he was right. His insight opened up my eyes to what is still to be cherished: life itself is still to be cherished.
Forever.
And always.
Fred didn’t have many friends, and a lot of people tried to make him flee (of course, not when I was around!), as his presence was sometimes a nuisance. But I think people didn’t fully understand him, nor appreciate him for that matter. He was above them, you see. And that only pissed them off, as they viewed him as being below (or might I say: beneath? for their sake) them, not at all above them. What these people didn’t understand also is the more cruel people were to…
