The Good Father

Mr. Frog is not the best of fathers. He knows this, his children know this and so do his wife and the rest of the world. If you ask him, he will not deny it; there is no way that he can. He has problems, many of them that he has tried to fix time and time again but each attempt is only in vain. Does he want to be cured of this disease, if you will? If so, he should surely be able to do it. It cannot be that difficult; you can do anything you want as long as you put your mind to it, or at least that is what his own father told him. But back to the question: does Mr. Frog want to rid himself of the trouble he is causing himself and his family?

Of course he does! Well, for the most part he does. He wants a better life for his children, his two boys. He would love for them to have a normal, stable family life; attentive parents, family meals, set bedtimes, not having to take care of all of the bills and chores. Mr. Frog knows that Edgar and Alan do everything. He does not like it, but does nothing to stop it. He has tried before, though. One night he sat down to figure out the bills, how much they owed, which needed to be paid first, but it did not go over well. Edgar had walked into the kitchen, still up at one in the morning on a school night, and asked him what he was doing. When Mr. Frog tried to explain Edgar threw a fight, yelling that he already had it sorted out and that he didn't need any help; there was already a system in place.

Why don't you go smoke another joint instead of fucking up things even more?

And Mr. Frog then left to just do that. Pathetic, isn't it; a grown man taking orders from his young teenage son? Imagine that! If he had talked that way to his father, he surely would have gotten a beating. Of course, Mr. Frog does not do that. He is not that bad of a father. If he did, though, it probably would have given those boys of his more discipline, which they are in dire need of. They are always trying to take over things, always telling him that he is doing everything wrong, always fucking up their lives. It is rude! It is uncalled for! It is-

Well, maybe it is not all that uncalled for. Mr. Frog can see that; he leaves them no choice to take control. He cannot help it, though. He has tried many times to come clean and it just never turns out well. Some attempts last longer, maybe a week or so, but the urges never leave. He needs his drugs; they are just as much of him as his boys are. Besides, when he is not mellowed out Mr. Frog can be terribly grumpy. Edgar and Alan even avoid him then, which he finds to be humorous in a twisted sort of way. He tries to stay sober for them and when he finally accomplishes that, they still turn their backs to him! Whatever happened to kids looking up to their dads? At least he is trying for them.

He does not give them much to look up to, though, Mr. Frog knows. If anything he gives Edgar and Alan more to look down on. Hell, it's no wonder they hate him and their mother so much. If his parents sat around getting high all day while he ran around, taking care of everything Mr. Frog would be pretty damned pissed too. And Edgar and Alan do everything; he sees it. He watches them get up early to go to school and then rising at the same time in the summer to open up the family comic book store. After seven hours of attending school, they hop on their bikes and work until nearly midnight, when they lock up and return home to work on whatever homework they can fit in. They spend their spare time trying to figure out a budget, working on paying bills and buying food. The house is a complete mess, clothes and old food left lying out, and no one bothers to clean it anymore. His wife has said on multiple occasions that she will tidy up a bit. She has yet to do so. It does not bother anyone, though. There are many things that need to be cleaned up in this household, and Mr. Frog is once again ready to make an attempt to set things right.

Again? Yes, again! Always and forever again, so it seems. He will give up his habits. He will give up his drugs even if his boys do not believe it. They have rarely talked about the drugs as a family. It was perhaps brought up one or two times, at least that is all he can remember. There was one afternoon when Alan, then only eleven, or maybe even twelve, had answered the door, opening to Mr. Frog's drug dealer, Hector. The young boy studied the scrawny, dirty looking man, his little face twisted in a look of disgust. Hector smiled widely at him and asked if his daddy was home. Mr. Frog was home at the time; he was lounging on a couch not too far from the door but did not posse the energy or desire to get up, and though Alan knew this, he told the man no and began to shut the door. Once Mr. Frog recognized the voice at the door, he quickly rose and hurried over so that he may replenish his supply. Alan stood by, watching with no expression, as his father traded their money- money that could have been used to pay the never ending debt- for a bag of weed. Hector counted the bills and then handed the baggie over to Mr. Frog. As they made the exchange, he glanced at Alan and smiled.

"Cute kid."

Alan scowled as the man walked away and followed his father back inside the house. "Why do you do that?" he asked.

"Do what?"

"Those drugs."

Mr. Frog looks from his newly purchased bad of weed to his son. Alan stared up at him, waiting for an answer. The gravely serious look on such a young face startled him. "I don't know," Mr. Frog replied as he began to walk off into another room.

Alan followed. "Will you stop?"

"Stop what?"

"The drugs."

"Oh. Someday."

"Is someday soon?"

"Yeah."

"No, it's not."

But it is now; Mr. Frog will make sure of it. He will make sure that the drug use will end and his boys will no longer have to worry about anything. There will be no more bills, no more store, no more house and chores. They will be completely free. He can do it. He will do anything he must to fix everything. That is what a good father would do, and that is what Mr. Frog wants to be; a good father.

It is late at night, just after two, and the boys have already been sleeping for a couple of hours. They had managed to get into bed earlier than usual in hopes of getting enough energy for the next long day of school and work. They are completely out of it, unaware of their father watching them as the sleep. Mr. Frog does this quite often. He sneaks into his children's bedroom, being extra careful to not make a sound and wakes them, and watches them while they slumber. He likes to look at their peaceful faces. This is the only way he can look at them; when they are sleeping. There are no signs of adult worry or sober, sullen expressions; only calm and normal children faces.

Mr. Frog kneels beside Alan's bed, studying his son's face. Now that his eyes have adjusted to the darkness, he is able to make out some of his features. He can see the outline of Alan's nose, a nearly identical match to his mother's, and the curve of his face. Mr. Frog lightly runs a hand over the smooth skin. It is still soft with some remaining baby fat; this surprises him a little. How old is Alan now? Thirteen? Fourteen? He cannot be older than fourteen; it's just not possible. Mr. Frog's hand lingers for a moment as he continues to stare at Alan's sleeping face. He looks so innocent. He, as well as Edgar, deserves to have a carefree childhood, especially with all of the work they have already done to keep the family running. Mr. Frog needs to be a good father. He needs to come clean and save his family and preserve whatever innocence his boys have left. He must do this now before it is too late.

Mr. Frog moves his hand from Alan into the pocket of shirt. He tightly grasps onto something cool and metal. Closing his eyes, Mr. Frog pulls out his gun and with a trembling hand places it on Alan's chest. He must save them; he cannot let his boys suffer any longer because of him or their mother. They need to stay children. He remains frozen, shaking terribly as he tries to bring himself to pull the trigger. He cannot do it. Mr. Frog cannot kill Alan. He looks at the boy again and knows that he must do it. He must kill his child to save him. Without changing his solemn expression, Mr. Frog pulls tightly back on the trigger.

It is not nearly as loud as he had expected, but it is much more terrible. He hears a pop and then a shuddering gasp. Alan is still alive, painfully moving about his bed. He is not dead; the bullet had missed his heart. Mr. Frog swears to himself as he quickly covers Alan's mouth with his free hand, pushing down with all of his strength to keep down the struggling boy. He can hear the blood gurgling in Alan's throat. The blood begins to pool in his mouth, splashing up against Mr. Frog's hand. A few tears escape the child's panic stricken eyes and trickles down his cheek, wetting the edge of his father's hand. Alan's hands tightly grasp onto his father's arm, clawing at the skin to try to get free. He tries to scream for his brother, but his cries are lost beneath the blood and hand. Mr. Frog struggles to bring the gun back the frantically breathing chest. He needs to kill Alan now; he was not supposed to live through this. He was not supposed to suffer.

Just as a light is turned on, Mr. Frog manages to aim his gun and pull the trigger again. This time it works. Alan's solid grasp becomes limp and his eyes go blank; he is dead.

"What the fuck?"

Mr. Frog turns around. His breaths are heavy and labored, but he feels a sick sort of satisfaction. His work is nearly done. He looks at his other son, Edgar, who is now standing beside his bed. His expression is one of shock and confusion. He looks at his father and the gun, then to his brother, unable to piece things together. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Mr. Frog stands, still holding on to the bloody tipped gun. "Edgar."

"You shot him." Edgar looks up at his father. Mr. Frog flinches at the look of betrayal in his eyes. The hurt, the tears; he cannot stand the sight of it. "You fucking shot Alan! What is wrong with you?" Edgar advances forward, trying to get to his brother's body. He can only make one step when Mr. Frog raises his gun, aiming it at the boy's dead. Edgar stops in his tracks.

"Lie down," Mr. Frog orders.

"Dad-."

"Lie down."

"No! We need to get help. We need to-."

Mr. Frog takes a step forward. "Lie down."

Edgar looks at Alan lying on his bed. He can see all of the blood flowing from his chest. Tears begin to cloud his vision. Alan is dead; there is no way he can be alive. Edgar looks up at his father once again, this time his eyes blazing with fury. "I hate you."

"Get into bed, Edgar."

He complies. Edgar returns to his bed and lies down on the mattress, allowing the tears to freely fall down his face. He knows what is coming next. Alan is dead and soon he will be too. Of all of the fucked up things their father has done, he never imagined this would have been one of them. Mr. Frog keeps the gun aimed at Edgar, making sure the boy does not try to escape, and uses his free hand to pull the blankets up over his son's body. "Close your eyes." Edgar is shaking now. He is scared, more than he ever thought he could be. He had thought about dying before and death was not something he feared. He knew he was going to die sometime; everyone has to die. But he never thought he would die now; this young or in this way. Now that he is in the face of death, Edgar is terrified. He does not want to die yet.

Edgar tightly closes his eyes, waiting for the end to come. Mr. Frog pulls the trigger for a third time. Edgar does not struggle; he dies instantly. The bullet went right through his forehead, forming a clean hole where a steady stream of blood begins to trickle down his still face. Mr. Frog's hands are still shaking, but his job is done. His boys are now safe. They can be children forever. He releases a heavy sigh and wipes his forehead with the back of his blood soaked hand. He hears footsteps running down the hall. It is the Mrs. She must have woken up. Mr. Frog waits for her to come in and see what had happened.

Mrs. Frog stops in the doorway, dressed in an oversized nightgown. She leans herself up against the frame and her wild mass of hair begins to fall in front of her face. She looks at her sons, both bleeding in their beds and at her husband standing there in the middle of the room doing nothing. "What happened?" she asks him. When her husband does not reply, Mrs. Frog steps further into the room. She gets a better look at Edgar and his blood covered face. A strange, mechanical sound escape her and she quickly rushes over to Alan's bed, only to find her other son staring up at the ceiling with a small trail of blood falling from the corner of his mouth. She screams again as throws herself onto Alan's body.

"My babies! What happened?" Mrs. Frog desperately attempts to revive Alan, pressing her mouth against and trying to breathe life into him. It does no help; the air moves through the body and pushes a small fountain of blood up through one of the bullet holes. Mr. Frog watches as his wife continues to try to save Alan, though it is all in vain since it's quite obvious that he is dead. His face is blank but in his mind a storm rages as he tries to put together the last passing moments. Edgar and Alan are dead; he killed them just as he wanted, just as they needed it to happen. It still does not make sense, though.

The desperate woman whips around furiously to face her husband. "What the fuck are you doing? Get your lazy ass over here and help-." She stops, leaving her mouth hanging open. She has finally noticed the gun in her husband's hand. "You," she says in disbelief. "You killed them! You killed our babies!" She rises to her feet. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"I had to," Mr. Frog says quietly.

Mrs. Frog looks from Alan, to her husband, to Edgar and then back to Mr. Frog. "You're fucking crazy!" she screams. "You shot our children! I'm calling the police!" Mrs. Frog makes a stumbling dash for the door, but her husband follows not far behind her. She cannot call the police. They are not supposed to be in this; this is just for their family.

Just as she makes it to the stairs, Mr. Frog takes aim and fires again, shooting twice to make sure he gets a hit. Mrs. Frog collapses and falls down the stairs, landing at the first floor. He does not hear any more screaming or any other signs of life; she must be dead. He walks down the stairs just to make sure this is true.

And it is. His wife lays in a crumpled mess on the floor. A dark stain begins to form on the back of her nightgown. Mr. Frog looks at the body for a moment longer before returning to the boy's room. Edgar is tucked into bed, his eyes shut to look like he is sleeping. Alan still lies amongst the twisted blankets. His hand lies over the side of the mattress, reaching for the floor. Mr. Frog goes to him first and fixes the blankets so that they are straight and covering his son's body. He takes time with the process, making sure that the child is securely tucked into bed. He closes Alan's eyes and kisses his cooling cheek. Then he goes to Edgar and does the same.

There are sirens in off in the distance. One of the neighbors must have heard all of the screaming and called for the police. It was too late, though. Mr. Frog had done what a good father should do and set his children free from pain and suffering. He smiles to himself, knowing that he is finally a good father. All that there was left to do was to rid of himself too. There were only three steps left and all would be perfect.

One.

Put the gun that is stained with the blood of his children to his head.

Two.

Pull the trigger.

Three.