I haven't seen his eyes light up like this in years. Not since his mom left. 

The wet slab of meat wiggles and squeaks in his hands. Light glistens across its slime. 

"Thanks so much Pa! I can't believe I actually got one, a real MeatBuddy!"

He holds the thing like it's his baby.

"Just not on the bed, okay? Detergent's expensive." 

"Don't worry, I'll be good!" 

He smiles as the thing nuzzles up against his nose. I squirm a bit. 

It's unsettling.

But it was $5 on sale, and the commercials make it seem like everyone's got one. He's a lonely kid, he deserves a buddy. Even if it is a MeatBuddy.

\*\*\*

I'm happy to see him happy. 

Things have been hard lately. I've been out of work for a couple of months now. Everyone has. 

I can hear him laughing and whispering to it. 

I hate to admit it; I'm getting jealous of the thing. My son had trouble making friends, even before things got bad. That made me his best friend.

I gently knock on his bedroom door.

"Come in!" I push the door open. "Are you okay Pa?"

My eyes trail to the MeatBuddy. It's in the corner, breathing heavily. Thick red liquid leaks from its many wrinkles. 

"Pa?" 

I snap back to my son.

"Oh yeah, sorry. It's messy in here, think you can clean up a bit?"

"Sure! I'm sorry, we've been playing." 

The MeatBuddy coughs up a little ping pong ball and my son catches it. He giggles and the thing squeaks in affirmation.

"I'm uh- going to go out and grab something to eat. Are you going to be alright? Shouldn't even be an hour." 

"Sure thing, I'll be okay!" 

The MeatBuddy watches me as I shut the door.

\*\*\*

I turn the key three times before my old shitbox kicks to life. The roads are less busy each time I go out. Weeds grow out of the deep potholes. 

The factories closed and sucked the life out of this place. Everything is falling apart. Amidst the rubble, the bright lights of the Mondo Mart still shimmer in the distance.

I pull my car around the back by the dumpsters. I'm not the only one, dozens of others mill about the heaps of rotting garbage. An elderly man is elbow deep when he pulls out a box of pasta. 

A younger guy next to me wrestles the box from him and knocks him onto the concrete. He seizes on the ground while others step over him to take his place. 

No hope for this one, not today. I'll pick some henbit and dandelions. "Grass soup" the kid calls it. Anything is better than nothing.

\*\*\*

The house is quiet. I drop my keys onto the kitchen table and set down my pile of foraged greens. 

"Son?" 

No answer. 

The air is heavy, humid.

"Son? Are you alright?" 

I step towards his bedroom, the door is shut. A red liquid seeps from underneath the door. 

"Paa." The response sounds like it's being pushed through an inch of mud. Guttural and deepened by phlegm. "Pa. We're in here!" 

I put my hand to the doorknob. It's warm to the touch. 

What's left of my son is sprawled on the bed. 

Wet pulsing meat wraps around his torso, melding itself to his skin. Translucent veins pump a dark red liquid into his head. My boy’s face juts out from the cocoon of writhing flesh.  

"S-son?" 

"It doesn't hurt anymore Pa. I'm not hungry anymore." 

I slip backwards onto my hands. I'm instantly coated in the sticky mucus. I slide around on the floor trying to get up, the breathing pile of tissue starts sliding itself off of the bed.

I bolt into the kitchen and grab the landline. My fingers slip over the buttons as I dial 911. The phone rings a couple of times before I'm greeted by an automated message. 

"Due to increased demand, we are unable to offer emergency assistance. Thank you for your understanding." 

The swollen heap of meat crawls out from my son's bedroom. My boy's mouth is twisted into an impossible smile. 

I see the MeatBuddy box on top of a pile of garbage. 1(800)LUV-MEAT, I type the number as quickly as I can. It's ringing.

The meat hoists its body vertically, twisting to hold my son on its back. A deep maw opens showing dozens of rows of razor sharp teeth. It hisses at me. 

"Thank you for calling MeatBuddy customer support. This is Erica, how can I help you today?" 

I look over to the empty pantry and throw myself inside of it. The phone cord barely reaches. 

"You've gotta fucking help me. I-I don't know what's going on." 

"Sir, please refrain from swearing. This call may be monitored for training purposes." 

A deafening thud hits the other side of the door. The wood begins to splinter as it presses into my chest. 

"It ate him. It ate my son. I don't know how it happened but when I got home-" 

She cuts me off. "I'm sorry you're experiencing an unfortunate circumstance. Let me see what I can do."

Living ooze seeps underneath the door and claws at my boots.

"Pa? Come outside. Mom's waiting for you. We miss you.” 

I can hear Erica typing before letting out a tired sigh. 

"Once a buddy has been bonded, it is no longer our responsibility. 

As outlined in our consumer agreement. 

No returns. No refunds."

MeatBuddy: Bonding