The Fisher's Son

The Fisher's Son

Word count: 500

I don't see what everyone has against the new Fisher family. It just goes to show what I've always said about this neighborhood, nothing but a bunch of suburbanite snobs, too busy washing their SUVs to have any original thoughts.

The Fishers are different though, especially Richard. When they moved in two weeks ago my parents told me I had to take him to school, show him around. At first I thought he was another stuck up kid. But I was wrong. After my first day with him I knew we would be friends, which is kinda weird since I've never really had any friends before.

"Jennifer," my parents lectured, "it is not appropriate for girls in the third grade to be friends with boys." My parents don't understand at all. They don't know what its like for me, how everyone laughs at me when they think I can't see, just because I'm smarter than them.

Richard doesn't laugh at me. The first day we met I had to walk him home from school. "Wanna see something cool?" he asked.

"Whatever." I just wanted to get home so I could get rid of him, I didn't know how great he was yet.

"Check this out." he said. He took something out of his pocket. He flicked his wrist and a bright steel blade appeared out of nowhere.

"Um...what's that?" I asked him.

"It's a knife, stupid."

"Yeah I know what it is, but what are you gonna do with it?" I was nervous, like I said, I didn't know him very well yet.

"Don't worry," he said. "Here, let me show you how to open and close it." It was easy to learn, I had it down after only a few tries.

"Too bad we don't have something to use it on." I said. I laughed but he didn't, just stared at me. "I'm just kidding."

Then he grinned and said "Well there's always Mrs. Peterson's cat next door." I laughed again, nervously. I wasn't sure if he was joking or not.

"Come on!" he shouted and ran off. I had to run my hardest to keep up with him and when we got to his house I was completely out of breath.

"Well...I guess I'll see ya tomorrow." I puffed.

"What, you aren't coming?" he asked, jumping the fence to Mrs. Peterson's backyard.

"Oh you gotta be kidding!" I yelled after him. "You'll never be able to catch it anyway."

He did, though.

At first I felt sick, like I was going to puke all over the grass. It wasn't the blood but the sounds it made, like the screeching of my Dad's old record player needle just before the music starts.

I tried to run when it was over. "We'll get caught." I hissed at him. "Let's get out of here."

"Nah, there's no one around." He wasn't even breathing fast. "Don't worry I do this kinda stuff all the time. Here you wanna try?" he asked, handing me the knife.

Of course not was what I meant to say. But I found myself reaching for it instead; there was something beautiful about the red and grey body against the bright green grass.

"Sure, why not?" I smiled at him, he had really pretty eyes.

My parents say the Fishers don't fit in here, but they're wrong. The Fishers are just what this boring neighborhood needs. There have always been too many cats, and stupid, snobby people, around here.