Boy

“Stop thinking!”

“Stop thinking dammit!”

Those were the words the tiny little boy shouted at me with a certain degree of anger and force; and then he passed playfully, holding that look of truancy in his young tearful eyes.

We had spent the whole evening arguing and fighting over nothing; it kinda felt as if we had spent our whole lives doing that. He was a good boy, just a touch “naughty” so to speak. I really liked the little fella; I had this feeling of protection towards him, as if somehow, for whatever reason I were to look after him for at least one true reason: he being so young, so small and so fragile.

His attitude towards me was a respect of some kind; definitely not respect per se, but some kind of looking up, some kind of strange, platonic-like, childish little love. He cared, this little boy and had this very pure soul.

I was busy with the many rites of life; I was in fact busy with this examination of some kind. It was of importance to me apparently. The result would be “life-changing”, or not! Anyways, at the moment it felt as if it were quite important. The child would come and go, play around, just like how a child does, just like a child is supposed to: playfully, joyfully, impulsively and absolutely freely. Just how children are to live, just how a childhood is meant to be…

I would look after this little kid from afar, one eye on the examination sheet, sitting on the ground, worrying about this good-for-nothing piece of junk which somehow would make a big difference in my future career apparently and one eye-and at times even two-on the little boy, running to and fro all around this massive chamber that has so many twists and turns; appearing and disappearing every second from a different corner, at times looking at me while doing so and at times looking absolutely distant, as if I weren’t even there to begin with.

At one point, not caring even the tiniest bit about the examination I jump to my feet and decide to go and look for the little boy; I have a feeling inside me, a paternal or even a maternal-like intuition which propels me to go and look for him, to find him; for I feel he needs my presence. I go and I find him in the next chamber, running around, half-naked.

“What are you doing?” I ask of him.

“Nothing! Playing. Let me go. Don’t you have things to do?”

“Are you okay?” I ask him, noticing traces of rash, bruises and even blood on the surface of his delicate, soft skin.

He just looks away and starts jumping around once more. I feel so sad inside. Something in my stomach churns and my heart is filled with pain. I get back to the examination chamber. Only now, less than ever I have a desire to sit and write. So I just go out through the back door into the yard outside.

Daylight is so bright; all the colors so vivid and so real. I wonder how time has lost meaning altogether. I know I have to look for the little boy outside. I start looking. I see him jump around, playfully from afar. I can see his eyes very distinctively even from distance; His eyes, so full of something as well as tears. Something so painful; a secret, a mystery, some kind of pain; and yes, I would know pain…

After what feels to be a series of efforts in vain to get hold of the little guy, I finally catch him; I grab his shoulders, look him in the eyes and ask:

“What is wrong with you little child? Are you okay? I am worried.”

“I’ll be fine.” He replies as he looks away, trying in vain to hide his many scars from my eyes. I look at him with care; meticulously I observe the manifestation of his misery in his eyes, in his rashes, in the blood dotted all around his skin. The rashes are worse the minute I recognize them. They turn black and parts of his face peel off; such a grotesque picture manifesting itself out of such pure beauty of a child, of this tiny little boy right in front of me.

Now I can only cry; my tears come down in silence and pure love fills my heart. I feel responsible; I feel like a father to this little boy, he seems to be my child, as well as my childhood somehow. I hold him ever so tightly and kiss away his tiny little tears coming down his bruised cheeks. I kiss him on the eyes, on the forehead, on the lips and hold him once more forever.

I tell him:

“Don’t you ever cry little boy. I will take care of you, look after you. I will take you to the doctor, I will wash away your sorrow and I will heal you and I will be there for you for as long as you shall need me, you lovely little boy, so pure and so big”

He just looks at me in awe, with those bright eyes so wet. He looks at me for a very long moment and I see myself in his eyes. And I hear my own words coming back to me. As if he were the one who uttered them somehow. And once more I feel safe, regardless of the massive amount of pain inside my heart; my tears somehow stop.

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