At Age 10

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There he was, standing, fingers tangled in strings that created a net. A net which separated her from him; poetry from mundane, beauty from ordinary. There he was, hanged upon his first conscious illusion, hanging around the age of ten. Speechless, mouth opened, just as wide as his eyes were; and breathless even though he was certainly alive.  Alive still when his selection of clothing stated otherwise. Alive in spite of what the color of his skin might have implied. Alive because no one has ever witnessed, and will never do, something which sprang so easily inside the glimmer of his deep brown eyes; something selfless that I could have only name after a feeling; love.


There she was, queen of the bouncy-castle, queen of his day, queen of the entire day; she was turning 10 that Saturday. She was feeling free and flattered. The dress she was wearing made her feel free and flattered, plus the way with which everyone was jumping helped her jump even higher, and that was something that pleased her. She was happy, you could conclude that from the indescribable smile lighting up her face, from the way the sunlight seemed to caress every strike of her golden hair and every inch of her skin. He was delighted.


She stopped jumping, though there was no reason for her to do so.-He wondered about her thoughts at that moment; little did he know that soon he would find out.- She noticed his presence, it was only obvious since he was the only kid not acting according to the unspoken agreement on kid’s behaviour whenever finding themselves at a party with a bouncy-castle situation; you were supposed to jump, not stare! and everyone knew that, he knew that, she knew that. But, he could do nothing else, because her beauty hypnotized him in a way that if a command about looking away were to exit his brain, his eyes and the rest of his body would simply not listen. So she noticed, and for a second, a smile was being built around the corner of her lips, but the intensity of his sight turned that unfinished smile around. turning it into mockery: wiggling tongue out, babbling sounds; the whole deal. His heart broke for the first time.


The spell got broken, his legs hadn’t realized. he wanted to run from that spot but he couldn’t, he even wanted to fly but the wings he thought he had earned simply vanished never to return again. Seconds turned into minutes, minutes into days. The mockery was a non-stop show, and at that moment, everyone was already staring, pointing, and laughing at him; at our little dreamer. One leg moved, he felt how the other one followed, and just like a train that is set to go, he swore he wouldn’t stop for anything in the world. His steps were precise, light but conclusive. However, his tears were heavy, redundant. and clumsy on their way down his face.


Instinctively, he ran around the backyard were the birthday party was being held; in between tables, legs of guests and a few clowns that failed at making him feel any better. His speed was increasing then; it seemed he could have teared a wall down if only he had stumbled across one. From afar, his mom saw that something had not ended appropriately, therefore she decided to go and, leaving her lunch behind, the coffee on the table, her bag on the floor, and a half-way-through conversation, be his saviour.


Even when the space there, for a kid, would seem to be enormous; for an adult,  it was just a backyard; so the only thing his mom did was stand up and wait for her son to show up in front of her; and he did, not minutes later, but just a couple of seconds after. As soon as he felt he was being wrapped around familiar arms he set himself to cry; just like waterfalls let their water fall, without control.


She articulated a few phases:”It’s all okay honey!”, “It won’t happen again sweetheart.”, “I love you” phrases that used to make him feel a lot better whenever he was feeling down, ill or hurt; though that day he was feeling heartbroken, and such phrases could have never mended his broken heart

Created: Feb 27, 2012

Tags: prose

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