The Dead that Follows

"Corduroy: [to Crackerjack] Crackerjack, do you think your death meant something....[tar drips on BoJack's head, he looks up annoyed] because it was in the service of the greater cause?

Crackerjack: Aw, shucks...[interrupted by Beatrice]

Beatrice: [defensively] Of course it meant something.

Crackerjack: I think questions like that are too big for a little soldier like me.

Beatrice: [she touches Crackerjack's shoulder] My brother gave the ultimate sacrifice.

Corduroy: But sometimes I wonder—

BoJack: But see, this is where I get hung up, because when we valorize the idea of sacrifice, of loss, of suffering."

BoJack Horseman, "The View from Halfway Down" (S6,E15)

Death.

While a concept that scares us all, an event that defines the lives and minds of many.

A veil of fog laid over the streets of Oakville, California, and the sun had yet to rise. Meanwhile, the Byrne siblings waited for their mother outside an abandoned corner store, killing time.

Corb, the oldest of the 3, was placed in charge of his younger brothers while their mother came home from another double shift. He had a difficult time succeeding in this task as the youngest, Aidan, had just as difficult a task at staying still. Despite being half the age of Corb, he was twice as bullheaded as both his brothers combined.

In light of this, when Aidan chose to hang out on the street while his mother arrived, his brothers had no choice but to follow.

Brone, the 12 year old, always followed wherever they went. He laughed as they laughed, ran as they ran, did as they did, and yet his difficulties laid on the fact he felt unable to fit in with his brothers. This was because Corb and Aidan spent more than half their time arguing with each other.

Corb became their surrogate father at 14, having his childhood practically stripped from him. He was forced to be as composed as a teenager can manage to be. Aidan on the other hand, was rash and did as much as he could to go against what he thought Corb wanted him to do. The oldest, loosing his cool, pivoted between berating the kid, and acting apathetic while he vented to Brone about the impossibility of controlling the freaking gremlin.

Brone listened, watched, and attempted to defuse both their tempers at once, but the couple of powder kegs would snap at Brone instead leaving him in tears.

They always came together to calm the middle child down, they hugged and rubbed his back as they asked him to not cry. Although, inevitably, they'd clash and begin arguing with each other again.

In this particular Saturday morning, on this particular abandoned corner store, Brone and Corb sat by a worn down stop sign while Aidan stood in the middle of the street kicking rocks around.

Halfway across the street, a brown SUV made its way through the fog towards towards the trio. Brone called the youngest over, urging him to move out of the way.

"Let him get ran over," said Corb. "That'll teach him."

"That'll kill him, dude. Don't play like that. Aidan, come here!"

"Fuck the both of you"

Corb pointed a finger at him. "Watch your mouth, you little..."

"I'm not little, and I ain't gotta watch shit!" Aidan picked a bundle of rocks and threw one at his older brother, nearly missing his head. Corb glared at him. "I hope you die, you little shit." "Aidan, get off the street, please."

"Make me."

As the SUV grew closer, and slowed to a stop in front of Aiden, The co-pilot window rolled down. A man peaked his head from the driver seat and smiled at Corb and Brone.

"Good morning! Would you be so kind as to ask that little one to move off the street? an accident might occur." The man's tone was as genuinely kind as his smile.

"I'm not little, and I'm right here asshole. Ask me yourself."

The man tilted his head and stared at Aidan in silence for an uncomfortable amount of time. Aidan, in turn, spat on the hood of the car and pretended to throw a rock like a baseball at the windshield.

The man did not react to any of the two gestures, and turned to the pair at the stop sign just as calmly as before.

"You look like the oldest and wisest," said as he lifted his clean shaven chin towards Corb. "Do me a favor, and remove the child from the street."

"Move him your damn self." The 14 year old felt condescended and spat on the ground before him.

Brone shrugged. "I'm sorry."

The sun began to rise, and the rays hit the windshield of the suv as the man ran a hand through his now visible long, black and greasy hair. He smiled, nodded, and turned his engine off as he opened the door of his car. He pushed the door closed with his thumb, and began approaching the smallest of the 3.

Brone jumped up and stammered something of an apology and a question regarding the man's plan of action. Corb frowned and sat there waiting, maybe someone would put the little brat in his place and save him future troubles. Aidan threw a rock at the man, hitting him right in between a pair of bushy dark brows. The man had no reaction to the rock even reaching him, and kept walking anyways.

Corb just watched as Aidan kept throwing rocks and stepping back. He also noticed the man was wearing a black tuxedo that did not seem to match well with either his older model SUV or the greasy unkept hair the man walked around with.

Oddest of all, is the ease with which he picked Aidan with one hand by holding on to the top of his hair. Aidan kicked and screamed as the man carried him to the side of the street, where he threw him over Brone. Corb stood to confront the man but was met by the end of a barrel of a gun pointed at him.

"I've had a long night, and I'm willing to let it out on the three of you. I would rather not do that. So please, do as I say and have yourself and your two little brothers kneel with your respective hands on the back of your heads against that wall over there at that torn building."

Corb picked Brone up by the arm, and pointed a finger to the wall so Aidan would walk over there. He did as he was told, and as he placed his forehead against the wall, he felt a heavy and cold hand rest on the back of his neck.

"Listen," whispered the man into Corb's ear. "I'm driving away, now. Your job is to keep your boys' and your eyes dead set on this wall here until you can hear my car no more. If I catch any of you trying to look over at me, I'll be sure to make your death as slow and torturous as humanly possible. Now, nod if you understand." Corb nodded. "Great. Now, as soon as I'm away from the lot of you, make sure you go home and hug your mother. None of you have any business being out this late."

Corb pressed his eyes closed and asked his brothers to do the same. They all heard a car door open, close, and an engine turning on.

Corb made a move to try to see the license plates of the car by hiding himself behind Brone's shoulders as he heard it drive away, but was unsuccessful at seeing anything of use.

They hugged one another, and helped one another get up as they regained the strength they lost in their fear. Once their legs stopped feeling like jelly, they made their way home and promised never to speak of the matter to anyone.

They went home, and as they walked in, Corb asked Aidan to take a shower. The kid had no reply other than a nod and a reluctant walk to the bathroom while the other two sat in the kitchen, staring out into the emptiness.

Right before Aiden reached the bathroom door, they heard their mother drive up, and as a child instinctively does, they ran to her for comfort. Aidan opened the door, tears in his face, calling out for his mother.

Only, it was not their mother who had arrived, but the man who they had all insulted.

"You peeked, and now your death will be torture."

The man pulled the trigger on the youngest before he even had a chance to fully realize his mother had not arrived.

Brone looked at him as a deer at headlights, and had his hunter place the killing shot as swiftly and quickly as the first shot.

"Yours will take some time, as it will be the slowest. Expect me, always."

Corb dropped to his knees as he saw this man drive away.

He sat there, a statue carved off a senseless tragedy.

Sat there as his mother walked in, and she collapsed at the gore of the scene.

He sat there as the cops pulled up, and even sat there, motionless, as he was questioned.

His mouth spoke the words of what had occurred, yet in his head he remained a statue of misery still.

His ears heard the way the community pinned a blame on her mother for her negligence, as a collector places pins on the butterfly, rendering her just as motionless as this tragedy had rendered the boy.

He stood motionless in life, veiled in death, awaiting for the day this man came to release him of his torture.

He lived life as an effigy of misfortune, and might as well should not have lived a life at all.

In his old age, as death fogged Corb Byrne's mind, he understood the man had indeed kept his promise. He had been given the longest and most torturous way to die:

Life.