Walton White (right) and Willy the Chicken (left), photographed at the age of 7.
This is also the photograph Walton carries around with him to this day. The only item he had upon arrival.
2 years later when Walton was 9, Willy the Chicken died at the age of 6. It was a natural death and he didn't suffer at all, a peaceful and rested way to go. This, was the beginning of Walton.
Walt woke, like every morning he would use the bathroom and from there, visit Willy then feed and spend time with him.
Upon entering the back garden, he could see Willy lay still. This wasn't like Willy and Walt knew he was dead, he just knew it. Walton walked with teary eyes towards his chicken and poked him softly in the wing...Willy didn't budge, making Walton feel something horrible inside his stomach that he'd never felt before. A burning sensation mangled up in barbed-wire deep within his stomach.
Walt stood upright, his pet chicken and only friend lay deceased infront of him. Walt's face looked angry, very very angry.
His eyes became glazed as if the tears had been absorbed into them. Walt clenched his fists, cracking numerous knuckles in the process and walking to his home for something. Walton didn't even know what for - but, something.
He knocked on the front door 7 times, each loud and noisy. He waited, turning casually and looking into the distance behind him with his hands in his pockets. About 12 seconds later, respectively, the inner lock of the door unhooked.
"Walton?" says his Mother.
She waited with a curious expression on her face, she looked busy as she wore gloves and an apron. Walton takes his left hand out of his pocket and pushes the door as if to naturally walk into his home, his Mother however stopped him in his tracks.
"What's going on, son?" says his Mother. Walt looks really upset, but it's the crazy expression that shows more. "I need to talk with Dad," he replies and then slowly squeezes past his Mother.
She watches Walt walk naturally through the hallway, he was pushing the doors open and peering in to each room but still not finding his Father.
"He's upstairs..." says his Mother, Walt looks at her and forces a thankful smile. Stepping slowly up the stairs, Walton's right hand moves toward his penis. He starts to fiddle with it, flick it and squish it around his fingers as he walks to his Dad's room.
The door creaks open, "Oh, Walt. What's up?" his Dad asks. Walton then steps into the room and closes the door behind him. He takes another step and looks at his Dad right in the eyes. He notices Walt playing with his penis and tells him to 'Stop playing with your willy.'
"Willy?!" Yells Walton. He charges onto the bed and heel-kicks his Dad right on the bridge of his nose. It explodes with blood instantly. Walt then grabs his Dad's face in no particular grasp, clawing into one eye and one nostril and begins to mount his whole head. Piss begins to dribble out of his penis and all over his Dad's face. Walton then backs away from his Dad and searches around the bedroom for a decent weapon. He rifles through the cupboards but doesn't find anything in them, to then looking down near a pile of clothes. Vase.
Walton picks the vase up which was heavy and large but empty. His Dad is lay face down on the bed cupping his pissy and bloody face. Behind him, Walt stands with the vase in his hands, dropping it down onto the back of his Dad's skull. He lay vigorously shaking, then he was still. His Mother heard the banging and came upstairs at this moment to see a panting and murderous 9 year old boy.
This is Walton, he won't change his ways now.