A Boy

A rough version of a short story I just wrote about us. It's called "A Boy"

A boy with a shovel quietly wanders towards the uncharted forest humming a cheerful melody. The forest had long been fantasized by the town dwellers as an area cursed with bears, coyotes, snakes, deadly spiders, hogs, and the works. Dark pagan rituals and barbaric ceremonies are also said to have been the norm in these parts and for these reasons it remained untouched by the established peoples of the town. As for the boy, he was the bastard son of the former town drunk and his mother was now a prostitute, constantly chasing bills and highs. The young child was known to be a drifter and of few words, or thoughts for that matter. Many folk thought him to be slow and unaware of the world around him. Safe to say human communication with the boy was slim to nonexistent.

As the boy continues on his path towards his destination in the uncharted land, a group of school kids whisper and point as he walks by, his melody becomes sweeter, louder. He moves on, they remain safe and together. Our music maker now approaches the tree line, they disappear in the distance, along with the established rules of reality and time. This is where the magik begins. Spectrum's of vivid colors are exposed to the point where words render useless and remarks only downplay the pure intensity and beauty witnessed. The tune whistled so sweetly before has now become an orchestra with added creatures of this realm and others yet to be seen. The connection between all the living is so spectacular that verbal communication is obsolete and creation is the only language worth noting. In short, this place is dimension shredding and of universal wonder, magik.

He begins to dig. He finishes and he leaves. He walks back and continues his loving song, smiling in between. The whispers return as he approaches the established reality and ways of time. To them, nothing but moments have passed. To him, galaxies were moved and dimensions were intertwined and moments were not even thought of, much less a reality. This comes to play as the whispers turn into communication and jealousy unfolds. They speak to him and he is quiet. He lifts his head and hands to show them what he has begun to transplant. The children scream and they attack the boy, killing him in cold blood. The elders of the town rush to the scene, only to stop dead in their movement. "How could this be?" they all think and some say. They all remember a dark truth.

As Americans we had destroyed our reflections and mirrors had disappeared from the landscape. Water had been polluted to destroy the returned image we know in this day and age and nothing was made to shine. We had been so cursed with moving forward we forgot where and who we were. Teaching each other but never ourselves. Learning to kill, forgetting to transplant and grow.

The elders were left with the option of forget or repeat…