"I wish I was character," said Alfred as he leaned on Arthur's shoulder.
"Well why would you want to be that?" said Arthur as he continued flipping through a particularly good book.
"People would always remember me, if I was a character in a book I wouldn't have to worry about leaving my mark on history. It would already be written and preserved."
Arthur turned and looked at the boy with a surprised curiosity. Alfred seemed like a pretty down to earth boy, he played in the mud just like every other boy and girl. What had caused this lad to have such a huge existential crisis? Arthur looked up and thought it would be best to play out this lad's curiosity.
"Why-," Arthur started, but was soon interrupted by Alfred's continuous talking.
"And we would always be together. There wouldn't be a day when we weren't together."
"There never has to be one. We can just stay like this."
"No Artie, you'll get old and I'll have to push you around everywhere."
"You little brat, we'd still be together."
"No, because after the wheelchair is the coffin. What am I going to do without you?"
He leaned back and started to mess with Alfred's hair.
"You'll be just fine."
"No I won't!"
Alfred brushed Arthur's hand off his head and looked at him straight in the eyes. There was a sense of urgency in his eyes that made Arthur concerned.
"Yes you will, because you are a smart, courageous, and bright young boy. You won't need some old man and in a few years I bet you won't even want me around. You'll make friends and even have a girlfriend. There won't be enough space in your heart for such worry. Then I'll know my job is done."
"I don't want you to die Arthur."
"I don't want to either. Now where did you get all of these ideas about death?" Arthur already started to make a list of suspects.
"No one, I just thought about it. It was really scary."
"Really? No one helped you? Not even that frog Francis?"
"Francis isn't a frog! He's a human being."
"Alright, well it is off to bed for you."
"No! I still have an hour before I have to go to bed."
"Fine, but if you keep talking about such macabre things I'll have to give you a nap."
Alfred jumped out of the chair and ran to the hallway. Arthur sighed as he looked at his newly waxed floor and instinctively knew it wouldn't be that way when Alfred came back.
So Alfred ran out into the front yard to go get his stuffed eagle plush and his other toys. Then in an instant, like a doorbell from the depths of hell a shot ran out and through poor Alfred's skull. Arthur ran as fast as he could and saw his golden boy lying on the ground with his red eagle plush in hand. His beautiful emerald eyes dulled and his skin seeming lost all color.
The next following weeks felt like cold air on a wet body. Arthur had laid the boy on the table in the basement. Arthur deluded himself with fleeting thoughts of denial until he picked up the thread and got to work on the boy's body. First it was the removal, then the stuffing, then finally the dressing. With a large variety of clothes still ironed in Alfred's closet Arthur proceeded to dress the boy in the morning then bathe the boy in embalming chemicals at night. Right before bedtime every night he read Alfred a bedtime story about himself. How he had become a hero passed on from generation from word of mouth. Sometimes Arthur even switched out important names with Alfred's. He saw his own smile on Alfred's stitched mouth and whispered to himself "And we would always be together. There wouldn't be a day when we weren't together."
The End