An Aborted Fairytale

In a distant valley, very far away, a small farm
house sits on a slight decline. In that crooked house lives Mama,
Papa, Grandpapa, and Timmy. Looking at the farm from afar, seeing
all the spotted cows and the large red barn, any man of normal intelligence
would think a dairy farm of those dimensions would require at least
twenty hired hands. But they would be wrong.

Due to imaginary illnesses and indifference, Mama, Papa, and Grandpapa
don't lift a finger to assist with the daily milking or feeding.
No, these wicked characters wake in the late afternoon, shuffle
into the dining room and sit down at the decomposing table. Crowded,
elbow to elbow, they each pull out a deck of cards and begin playing
solitaire. Timmy, a small boy of eight years, showing all the symptoms
of malnutrition, is forced to perform all the farming duties.

Outside, in the fields, hundreds of cows graze. There is also one
dog. No one ever bothered to name all the cows, mainly because there
were too many cows, and Timmy was too busy to amble through the
grazing fields, greeting the dairy cows with personalized salutations.
But the dog was named Ralph.

One day, many years ago, Timmy was milking the cows when Ralph,
a puppy then, stumbled into the barn. Timmy, not possessing any
intellect and having very poor eyesight, thought Ralph was an extremely
small dairy cow. He sat for hours, scratching his prematurely balding
head, trying to produce milk from Ralph's singular tit. Ralph, enjoying
the attention, kicked his hind leg, wagged his tail, and licked
Timmy's bony fingers. After that, Timmy and Ralph never left each
other's side. Over the years, Timmy and Ralph even began to act
alike. Timmy, never being much of an orator, dropped all words from
his vocabulary; he communicated using a three bark system that only
Ralph was able to decipher. And Ralph also took on Timmy's traits.
Eventually it became difficult to tell them apart. But one thing
did stay constant throughout; Timmy never stopped trying to milk
Ralph.

But Ralph had a horrible secret. He acquired a taste for human
blood, through the most unconventional and innocent way imaginable.
One day he did not lust for human blood, and then the next day,
that's all he desired. It happened just like that. And one hot summer
day, after Timmy was finished milking him, Ralph took what he wanted.
Ralph killed Timmy, with one jugular slicing bite. For days Ralph
nibbled the meat off Timmy's limp body until there was only a small
yellow skeleton left. And then Ralph began to chew on Timmy's soggy
bones, crunching them between his large white teeth.

Mama, Papa, and Grandpapa continued to play solitaire. Wicked to
the core, they only questioned Timmy's wellbeing when their stomachs
began to growl. And even then they did not speak. No, they started
pounding their closed fists against the dining room table. And when
the dining room table crumbled into a thousand pieces, they shuffled
back to their soiled cots and waited for death.

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