It's not uncommon for young children to have a pet of some sort, and Veser, troubled as though his childhood may have been, was no exception. He'd had a dog once, and he'd loved it to bits; right down to its different colored eyes and its odd way of wagging its tail so hard it looked like it'd fall over sometimes. He'd loved it so much he'd even named it after his most favorite singer in the world, David Bowie.
They'd romp and play around in the front yawn, chasing balls and Frisbees dangerously close that busy street without a care in the world. Veser and Bowie had become best friends very quickly; it was a lot easier for the socially awkward half-selkie boy to make friends with an animal than other kids his age. He'd repaid that friendship with table scraps, sneaking meaty bits off his plate and under the table to that waiting mouth eager to gobble up the good stuff. And likewise Bowie allowed the young Hatch to take a few nibbles of the dog kibble he poured into his food bowl every night, just to see what it tasted like. To be that much closer to each other.
At night Bowie would jump up into bed with him and snuggle up close, leaving his long snout in Vesers face to let his smelly dog breaths tickle his nose and ruffle his hair as he tried to sleep, making the young boy fall asleep smiling every evening without fail.
Bowie was something he could run to and bury his face in on those nights when his father was rough and unforgiving and Lee was too far away to go to, his large acidic green eyes leaking huge tears that dampened that soft tan-colored fur he loved to pet, the dog whining gently as it tried comforting Veser as best it could.
It was safe to say that Veser loved that dog more than he loved anything else in the world. He was safe, soft and comforting in ways his parents never would be, and playful and forgiving unlike most the kids in his class, frightened by his strange, unnatural appearance.
He took Bowie on walks and always made sure he had plenty of water to drink when that tongue lolled out and he began to pant. He made sure his belly was rubbed when he rolled over on the floor and pleaded at him with those crazy blue and brown eyes to pet it. The young kid truly couldn't think of life without him, though unfortunately he didn't have long to figure out what to do should Bowie not be there to help him carry on.
It happened one day while Veser was suffering at school; those ruthless kids picking on his teeth and eyes and making him want nothing more than to just run home and roll around with his dog. Daddy dearest was home nursing a hangover, skipping work to give it the best treatment he could, when Bowie looked up and happened to catch sight of a squirrel.
He jumped up and stared out the window, barking loudly and happily at the furry creatures scampering form.
"Shut up." Veser's father had murmured, frowning as his head throbbed with each loud bark. But Bowie kept on.
Mr. Hatch wasn't one who liked to repeat himself, and on this day, with this hangover so painful, his patience wasn't even thin at best. It was flat out gone.
"I said shut up you stupid filthy mutt!"
And that was the end of Bowie. His frightened yelps and snarls of retaliation in self-defense went unheard as the violent older Hatch did away with his sons best friend, murdering the creature as Veser ate his lunch alone in school.
School depressed him, and the bus rides home were always built him back up as he bounced eagerly in his seat so he could run home and play with Bowie. He burst through the front door, casting his bookbag aside and immediately called out for his dog.
"Bowie, Bowie! C'mere boy!"
He was stopped dead in his tacks by his fathers looming form, his face stony as he held a limp, dogless collar in his hand, shiny dog tags clinking noiselessly as he stared his son down.
"Bowie had an accident."
Of course he'd known it was a lie. He wanted to cry, to scream, to call his father a stupid liar and to beat him up for hurting his dog, but that'd only do more damage to him than it would his dad. All he could do was stare, mute and numb at that collar he'd picked out himself for a dog he'd loved more than the air he breathed dangling from his dads angry hands, grief strangling him in ways his father only wished he could.
It seemed that with the murder of Bowie, his father had picked up a nasty habit of doing away with the things he loved most, as was demonstrated when he'd found Lee dead and hanging. If Veser had known the amount of pain that came with trusting and getting to know people, only to have his father come and rob them from him later on down the road, Veser would've quit with Bowie.
As he stood staring at Lee's limp body, hanging from that rope in the theatre, he'd made a silent vow then and there of never again.
Never again.
A/N: Baseddd on actual events. RIP, Gritney.