Fred


When my parents told me we were moving, I just shrugged, “Okay.” I didn’t have friends, anyway.

Our new place was in the boonies. My parents thought I started exploring the woods because I fell in love with nature, but I was just searching for a cell signal.

While I was hiking, I found a scrawny pug with no collar. I fed it jerky and tried to take a picture, but it ran away.

I kept bringing food and named him Fred. Whenever I tried to take a picture or pick him up, Fred ran away.

One night my parents came to my room to show me a video. I looked crazy, sitting in the woods, petting air for hours before leaving a pile of jerky.

I stopped visiting Fred.

A couple weeks later, I heard yipping outside. It was Fred, shivering in the cold. I took a blanket and sat with him until sunrise. He let me take a picture before he ran off. I never saw him again.

My parents think I photoshopped the picture. They got me a pug named Fred for Christmas, but I’ll always miss the real Fred because he was my first real friend.


Written for Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner: 2021: Week #12.

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