Pipsqueak looked up at his mother with teary eyes. “What do you mean Grunkle Starstreak’s dead?” he asked.
“I mean.” said his mother calmly. “That he’s dead.”
Pip howled with tears. “Why?” he asked. “Why?”
“Because he was old, and that’s what happens to old people: they die.”
“But you’re old too!”
“Not that old.”
“Yes that old. Just look at those eye wrinkles!”
Pip’s mother rolled her eyes.
“I can’t believe this.” Pip said dramatically. “My Grunkle Starstreak’s dead, and my mother is on the way out!” These meltdowns were common in this particular household. Pipsqueak was indeed different from his siblings. None of them had a fear like this. Pip also had quite the knack for drama. He knew more facts about natural disasters than anyone else in the family. He also recorded down information about his siblings that could cause illness. Just this morning he saw his sister Colgate going jogging with nothing to keep warm. He begged her to get a jacket on, as she might freeze to death. He would always send texts to his older brothers and sister, asking them where they were and if they had sanitized or washed their hands within the last hour. He forced them to keep small first-aid kits with them at all times.
Finally Pip’s foster-parents decided that this fear of his was getting out of hand. After months of searching, they finally found a psychology professor whose son had overcome a fear of rugs after a summer course at Celestia’s School for Fearful Students. Like Fluttershy had, the professor had locked to door to his office and spoke barely above a whisper.
The next day Pip’s parents sat Pip down and told him what he would be doing for the summer.
“Celestia’s School for Fearful Students sounds like a cult!” Pip had exclaimed.
His mother sighed. “Pip, it’s like camp, not communism.”
“How can you even entertain this notion? They don’t allow cell phones! Have you no mercy?”
“Pipsqueak, there is no need for theatrics.” his father said as Pip dropped to his knees.
“Take a good look at this face; it may be the last time you ever see it.”
“Pip, they’re going to help you enjoy life more and worry less. Doesn’t that sound good?”
“Worry? I don’t worry. I am simply an observer of life, commenting on potential harms. That hardly constitutes worrying.” Pip said in an attempt to convince his foster-parents there was nothing wrong with him.
“Why do you wear that surgical mask then?” His mother asked.
“I only wear it during flu season. As any competent doctor will tell you, kids are much more susceptible than adults. There were ninety-three influenza-related deaths in 2003.”
“Is that what you’re afraid of?” his mother asked. “Dying?”
“All I need is someone who had passed to come back and tell me what it’s like, and so far Grunkle Starstreak hasn’t visited.”
“Pipsqueak,” said his father. “Let me explain.” His father started carrying on about many predictions of the afterlife.
Pip just sat and listened.
“There.” said his father when he had finished. “Don’t you feel better?”
“Not really.” said Pip. “But don’t you find it suspicious that the afterlife has more options than a salad bar?”