Reverie

The Turtle

I like it that order exists somewhere even if it shatters near me." ― Elizabeth Moon, The Speed of Dark

That evening, prior to dinner being served, Brandon Wilkes was speeding down the hallway of the second floor of the Terog on his tricycle. His parents were down in the dining area along with the other guests, chatting. They'd given up when he'd thrown a tantrum about wanting to ride his bike rather than eat. Trying to avoid a scene, they let him have his way.

A large child with a thin layer of fuzzy brown hair and thick black-rimmed glasses, he peddles furiously on the navy blue tricycle through the corridor, the wheels loudly squeaking, almost knocking into a tall blonde woman in a pink pleated skirt exiting her room as he rounds a corner.

"Hey, hey chill!" she snaps with her palms out, motioning for him to slow down, as the edge of his front wheel just about hits her calf as he comes to a skidding stop.

"Come on, move!" Brandon whines as she sidesteps him, sending a sneer over her shoulder as he takes off, blowing past her skirt, zooming back down the hall.

"God, what a little monster." she mutters, taking another cursory look back as she descends the stairs.

Brandon rounds another corner and comes to an abrupt screeching halt. Adjusting his spectacles as he focused on what was standing at the far end of the hallway.

A clown. Tall, grinning and holding a bundle of red balloons. Brandon stares for a moment, his fingers still tightly gripping the handlebars. He swallows nervously as the clown approaches, doing a little skipping movement along the way, bells chiming with each step.

"Hiya Brandon," the clown says as he comes to a pause in front of the boy. He's now towering over him, Brandon has to actually crane his neck up to look at him. "What a nice bike. Blue is a nice color, although I prefer red or orange."

"Um, thanks I guess," Brandon replies, before making a scrunched up face. "Orange? Blegh."

The clown laughs at his reaction, seemingly unbothered. His voice high and merry. "Would you like a balloon?" He presents one from the bundle, with the white string flowing daintily between his left thumb and index finger, curling at the end. "Here, take it. Go on."

"Yeah, no thanks. I don't like balloons."

"All children love balloons."

"Not me." Brandon counters as his irises glance up at the bundle of crimson, uneasiness evident as he lowers his head back down.

It smiles at the boy. Nothing wrong with a bit of a challenge. Although this could wear thin after so long, but It will go along with it. Until It runs out of patience and has to snap the kid's neck.

But where would the fun in that be?

It stares down at him as he senses fear. Beautiful, delightful delicious fear.

But not of It, no, but of the balloons.

"Are you afraid of balloons?" The clown smiles, kneeling down, close enough that Brandon could see his crystal blues only inches from his own.

"No!" Brandon replies defensively. "No, I'm not." He glances at the bundle again, tilting back slightly in his seat, as if anticipating an attack.

"Yes, I think you are." It grins obscenely wide.

Globophobia. This will be too easy. It sees in the depths of the boy's mind, other children, mostly boys, teasing Brandon for his fear and him running away in tears. It sees the boy sitting in a therapist's office with his parents, trying to overcome it, to no avail.