A Cleansing.

The young boy ran among the muck and decided to drown his hamster there.   The beating rain that rattled against the moist earth let out a funeral snare so that the entire world surrounding that place could understand the horror that was being accused.  Much to the boys surprise the hamster did not flail or fight back, it twitched, and then accepted itself to the afterlife.  In this way it seemed mother nature took pity on the small creature, deeming its demise a liberating act to the atrocities of the sick child.

The boy named Trent dipped his booted feet into sinking soils and found his way home covered in the grime of the world, the lifeless brown muddled mass of mud in one fist.  His face beemed a satisfied smile but the beating of the rain drops told a story akin to disapproval.   Somewhere up above the people would have surmised that the Lord was troubled by the acts of his creation for after all he knew every hair on his head but he did not gather all the thoughts within.

At home young Trent buried his poor pet hamster in the sewers, flushing it down the toilet bowl where its coat of mud had broken away in a mist amongst the blue hue of the toilet water and circled its light brown mass through the funnel of draining water.   His eyes followed it as it vanished, and when he could not see it it was out of mind, and he wiped his filthy hands on the sides of his khaki shorts.  He exited the bathroom with a calm sigh of relief and went to the kitchen to join his family for dinner.

His mother looked aghast at him standing before the dinner table all covered in natures grime, she observed the hand prints upon his shorts, and the mop of hair that fell against his forehead having been forced that way by the driving rains but now was in that delicate and disgusting area of disrepair but unable to fix itself.  She chastised him and he huffed at her and scowled his unsettling scowl, and she dropped the point.  Now that her exasperation was mooted she returned to eating, and he too began to eat.  He rudely reached across the table passing his disgusting hands into the buttermilk biscuits leaving his mark on many of them.

"Son of a bitch."   His father exclaimed just after the door slammed shut near the front of the house.   "Who tracked mud all over the carpet?"   The boy called Trent sat silently eating his biscuits, and he did not react.  Not out of fear, but out of pure bliss of knowing that he was safe from reprucussion.  The father moved into the kitchen and saw the muddy child, and he swallowed the swell of anger that was growing inside of his throat.  His face reddened with rage returned some of its natural color and he moved to his location at the head of the table.   The father reached across the table and retrieved and dirty biscuit, and he stared at it and then at his wife, and young Trent bit into his own.   The father bit into his, mud and all.

Later that night when Trent himself had felt that he had been dirty enough he walked into the shower and washed off all his mud.  He did not notice the clogged toilet bowl rising water over the rim that splashed all over the linoleoum floor.   And his feet heavy with lathered soap slipped against the floor and he was suspended ethereal in the light of the singular ceiling bulb.   The collision with his head against the edge of the bathtub was subtle but cracked enough that he was instantly lost to the human world.

When the body was discovered the parents of the little boy Trent decidedly quickly to cremate him.  It wasn't for any other reason that to ensure that the flames perfectly consumed him and when they brought his ashes home they emptied them into the clean toilet not knowing that they were uniting him with his dearly departed hamster.