The Camel's Back

I gave my little stuffed camel the name Baby Boomer before I actually knew what the word meant, but my parents thought it was quite cute, assuming I heard it spoken in passing. Boomer was my relief from the everyday torments. I'd hug him tight when the other kids would tease me for keeping a stuffed doll around. Maybe they were jealous the school gave me permission to bring the emotional support toy, or more likely the other kids wanted to pretend they were older than they really were.

Johnny was the worst of all, never leaving me alone. He'd pull my hair as I was engrossed in my study book, or point out every single physical deformity I had, no matter how mild. Snaggletooth and Four-eyes were among his favorites names for me. The adults assured me that he probably just liked me. I guess it didn't matter that I wanted nothing to do with him. I always made sure to keep Boomer hidden in my backpack when he was in line of sight, as I was sure he would try to steal him from me.

If I had lost Boomer, I don't know what I would do. Who would be there on the nights we'd go to bed hungry? My parents really, really tried to give me the best life they could, but I knew there was only so much they could do. Most of the time they were at work, and the majority of their earnings went into paying bills and debts with barely enough to feed ourselves. Dad bought Boomer for me when he made a generous paycheck one week. In return, I promised to do pour myself into school and make a better life for myself. When I'd hold Boomer close to my heart, it would remind me how much Dad loved me.

Things did get better over the years, but not my mental well being. When my parents became more worried, they bought me a cell phone - the cheapest they could afford. They impressed upon me that it was not a toy, but a lifeline. If ever the stress became too much even for Boomer to help, to call them immediately. Unbeknownst to them, I had another number to call when things became too much to handle, but I knew that Boomer would always be my escape.

One day, after school, I took Boomer to the local park and sat with him on a bench under the shade. He had a hole torn in his hump, so I took out the improvised sewing kit and began stitching him together. I barely had time to blink before he was snatched out of my hand. Johnny waved Boomer in the air, wanting me to chase him. I tried to reach out toward Johnny, but he ran away, much faster than my feet could carry me. This was the last straw for me. As I pulled out my phone to call my secret number, I could see Johnny still taunting me from a distance. I shakily pressed each number into my phone and put it up to my ear. Johnny laughed at me some more.

"Is the baby calling for Mommy and Da-" Before he could finish, Boomer and Johnny both exploded in a cloud of fire, smoke, blood and organs. The sound was indescribably loud, but the red rain that followed was serene. I never felt better.