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Classmates of the notoriously quiet Caleb Fink are seemingly unaware that the timid boy is actually the grimiest little freak to ever emerge from the infernos of hell.
“He seems really nice, but he never talks to anyone in class. I really hope that he has friends outside of class that get him out of his shell,” said Fink’s former lab partner Emily Peters as Fink himself crouched in the corner, pulled strands of hair out of a Ziploc bag labeled “Thursday,” and wove them into a tight little braid. “I wonder if he’s this quiet at home too.”
“The poor kid usually just stares at the floor like he’s done something wrong,” added classmate Ryan Clark, oblivious to Fink rolling a dead fly between his fingers like a stress ball and muttering, “My precious little guy.” “I’m going to try to make more of an effort to talk to him, maybe introduce him to our other classmates. He clearly needs the help.”
At press time, Fink pulled a raw chicken breast out of his pocket and called it his “emotional support meat.”
