Gray

Gray
WC: 298

Two boys ran down the wildflower-covered hillock on one’s grandmother’s farm, rushing to the stream.  “Hurry up, slowpoke,” the taller said to his shorter, younger teen.  “We have to cross it and make sure it’s still there.”

“I don’t think anyone’s found it, Gray.”  He reached his friend out of breath.  He learned forward and put his hands on his knees.

“How do you know?  Are you psychic or something?” 

Gray looked up and smiled.  “Or something, Mac.”

The older boy shook his head and walked into the water.  “Hurry up,” he added reaching to the other side.  He looked up at the slight incline.  “I hate this.”

“Move it,” Gray said.  He rushed up the slope and reached the protective birch thicket top.  “It’s still here,” he said, pointing down.

“I’m coming,” Mac said.  He looked down an opening in the trees.  “You’re right.  She’s still there.”

An evil grin came to Gray’s face as he looked down on the old woman’s body.  The woodland animals had yet to find her.  Bugs hadn’t done too much damage to her face.  “Just like we left her last week.”

“I shouldn’t have let you talk me into it.  We should have just left her alone.”

“Where’s the fun in that?  Look at what we’ve gotten from her house since we dumped her.”

* * * *

“How long has he been here?” the young psychiatrist asked the doctor on call.

“For as long as I’ve been here,” the older man answered.

They looked through the one-way glass and observed the elderly man in the room, gently rocking back and forth on his bed, holding an old gray teddy bear.

“And he’s never spoke to anyone,” the doctor added.  “Only whispering to that bear, ‘You always get me in trouble.’”