I met a boy once.
He had no name.
I was just passing by.
He was wrapped around with shame.
I asked him "What troubles you?" He didn't answer.
I wondered if he was mute or deaf, for he only remained expressionless, his knees wrapped around him, almost like he was holding his sanity by a string. The alley was a claustrophobic kind of narrow. A huge dumpster was placed by a vandalized wall, and the street light was flickering its sunset light. It felt abandoned save the kid who sat opposite the wall, burying his face on his knees.
So, I asked once again, but this time louder."What are you so ashamed of?"
He just looked at me with eyes of horror and a heart wrenching song played from his mouth. But this song, only the both of us could hear. Only the two of us knew what was going on.
And so I asked him again, in a low bemused whisper: "What are you afraid of?" He just blinked. There was no longer the tune of despair, nor unfeeling in his eyes, but a frightened and frail kind of expression; one which could turn a person slightly aback.
I must've looked like I've just been convicted of a crime I never did.
"Why? Do I look like the grinch?" I asked cooingly. "Kinda." The boy said tremulously.
"Where are your parents?" I asked. This kid shouldn't be wandering off to nowhere, lest some other guy might beat the child out of him turning him into a soul sucking predator.
"Oh really?" I said, amused. I had a hard time believing this. Usually kids like to make stories up for fun's sake and, well, childhood.
"How did you die, then?" There was some lengthy pause that I thought he was already building up a pixie creature with pink horns and blue eyes who threw magical twigs that stabbed him to death. Or it was just me.
Yet, there was something strange going on. And I can't lay a finger of apprehension on it. It was also giving me the willies. "I was killed because of natural causes."
"I died then. I died now. And I will always die in the future." He stated shakily. Strange. How could a child like him come up with such stories? Kids these days have such wild imaginations. Often, they'd say gibberish, but you wouldn't really know unless you're the ones inside their heads. Grown ups could only ever understand so much.
But, something REALLY was off. It made my back prickle and my flesh cold and limp. I just didn't understand.
Then, to my horror, I saw the child. And, he was floating in mid-air.
He was glowing like a brilliant pearl despite the yellow light flickering. His glow faltered, but the rest of him defied gravity.
Was I dreaming? Had I been drugged in some sort of espionage? Was I one of those notorious criminals they were trying to catch? Or, was the kid telling the truth? Before I could even process an answer, I found myself pacing backwards, speechless.
There was something off about that ludicrous look in his eyes that resembled a pair of doll eyes stuck into his eye sockets. I don't even know why I didn't already run as fast as I can. But, if this was the last thing that would happen to me, might as well know who killed me, right?
"Who are you?" I shouted and to my horror, I was on the verge of crying.
"I am you... And I am ashamed." The kid rolled his eyes inwards. And, he floated there. We both stood there in what seemed like eternity. . . . The kid's jaw dropped open. Just like prying the two parts of a stapler open. There was no blood.
"I am staple. I am everything you could ever wish to be." It said in a much more petrifying high pitched kid scream. I thought my ears split open.
This is all just a dream, I said to myself.
It was like a conundrum with no real solution, inevitable, and could sometimes be right under our noses. Because, no one ever told me that I'd dream of something like this. No one could have known things would end up like this, even if And speaking of a soul-sucking predator, what was I thinking?
Some dreams, whether a nightmare, or just you tying shoelaces, could either lead to good or bad circumstances. What's good is that you wake up. The bad one? Is that you still wake up. Everyone gets closer to their deaths every day. Every other day, a person might just die in their sleep.
There is THAT fear, that resides somewhere deep in your mind when you sleep. Some just haven't triggered it yet.
Its jaw was hanging open, its smile reaching from ear to ear.
"I am NOT you. It can't be."
"You were, and you will be. And you'll always be." I saw its kind eyes fade into a pair of black holes, engulfing me, I think, devouring each and every part of my flesh and bones into pieces. I wasn't sure if it hurt or not.
I met a girl once. She was looking deeply on her knees. I wondered what was wrong and asked her. "Who are you?"
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