Carmello

Walter

by ethan risinger

Walter might be a good kid. Walter likes tricycles more than bicycles, or at least he is pretty sure.

There are hundreds of frogs in Walter’s World. Moving over and under him over and under each other. Rubber legs firing across his eyes like rubber band shooters, like he’s watching war.

Walter stepped on one once. He didn’t mean to, but the noise was nice.

Walter has no clue how long he’s been popping frogs; time doesn’t really matter with pretty things.

Walter’s dad might be a bad person. Walter’s dad likes gulping more than sipping, but he likes to smile too.

“Walter? What are you doing?” “I’m poppin’ frogs. It makes ‘em happy!” “Walter, son, We can’tWe can’t hurt things.”

Walter’s feet felt dangerous, like they should screw off his body. Walter didn’t know who he was. Walter started to wonder how he had a name. Battles seemed like different things now.

Walter’s dad only knew how to hug, not how to talk, but he carved into Walter’s ear with his breath, “We can’t hurt things, We can’t hurt things.”