Even I hardly remember the story now.
The one about the monster. Was it winter,
then? Frost hanging from basement walls,
a vicious turn of events. He must have been
so frightened, even with flesh made
of scales that glistened like gemstones.

I knew the brothers that killed him.
We went to school together. Mark,
the bully. Tommy, the quiet one. Damien,
the youngest, the meanest. All soulless
like the snow that crunched underneath
my boots as I walked home that day.

I watched as they snuck into
the abandoned house. Damien shoved Mark
in, laughed. The sound was an icy bullet,
a sliver of venom scorching the air.
I winced as the sound reverberated
inside my head.

Everybody knew the monster. A gentle
creature that played hide and seek.
People would take him leftovers, sit
and eat with him. He would suck the bones dry
there in his basement, growl and smile,
displaying rounded teeth worn to nubs.

We all noticed how some of his scales
were devoid of sheen, how others had fallen
off to reveal pieces of soft, bluish matter.
I should have said something when I saw
them. We knew of the brothers’ cruelty.
But I continued to walk home.