Too Young To Understand

Beginning

 Walking alone from school. A young school boy can be seen walking upon a dirt trail. The sunray on his back, as the sun slowly sets for the night. With his school bag on his back. Ever so silently one of the bag straps sliding off his shoulder, as his feet are going in front of one another. Walking ever so calmly up the path to his home. That very home sits deep in a forest, which is covered by oak trees everywhere, and other trees as will. The chilly wind of the night creeped in the air, as the sun still went down for the day. His green emerald eyes shine as the light hits it. His shadow follows right behind him. The wind against his face, moving his red-brown hair as he walks. Far in the woods. The boy's wooden house creeping in the view of his eyes. Inching closer as his feet guide him over the dirt path. One leg going forward then the other following after. As shadows of the trees passing by. Sounds of birds flying into the trees, the leaves making noises as they do. Out in the distance a dark oak fence can be seen popping into the view. The wood of the fence is peeling and chipping. Grass can be seen creeping up the fence posts in the ground. The boy followed alongside the small fence. His house inching closer with every step he took. Leaving footprints behind himself in the dirt. He took one final step and he was in front of the pathway that leads up to his front porch. With one sifted turn, he began his way up to the path to the steps of the porch. Inching his way to step upon the first step. His right foot planted on the first wooden step, getting his body settled in order to have the left leg to go up in the air. Plating his left foot on the next step without a problem. Going up eight steps. Inching to the front door. Both of his feet on his welcome mat. With light slides of his feet on the mat. In order to get the loose dirt off the bottom of his shoes. Lifting his right hand from his side. Having a firm yet gently grip on the doorknob. Gently turning the doorknob clockwise, a clicking sound from the door. That sound is the door allowing itself to be opened by the boy. Pushing the door into the vestibule.

Seeing a small hallway like room when the door opened. Making his way inside, the door closing behind him. Taking off his school bag slowly, enough to not get hurt. Slowly put the bag next to the cost hanger. Sounds of the heavy school books hitting the ground in the bag. The boy began to stretch out his back, since curing a heavy school bag can do a number to your back. His hands grasped around his hips, he began to lean backwards for at least 30 seconds. When leaning back to stand up straight he had rolled his shoulders. In order to relieve the theshen in his shoulders.

To the boy's right can be seen a woman who seems to be the mother of the boy. The lady's red-brown hair goes to her low back. His mother sets up the table for their dinner. A look of stress on her beautiful face. The bags under her eyes show how exhausted she is. The boy had looked over to the right. Watching his mother setting the table for a few seconds. Letting both of his hands rest by his sides. Making his way to his mother. A warm smile on his lips, stopping by his mother. Raising his hand to her shoulder in order to get her attention. His mother jumped a little bit by the standed touch. Moving her head to the right, face full of worry. Seeing that it was her son. Sigh of relief was let through her lips. A hand resting on her chest.

"Wilbur, dear. Are you looking to give me a heart attack?" She giggled as she said that. Raising her hand to rest on Wilbur's head. Her face is full of love and care for her son. A chuckle leaving Wilbur's mouth. As he shook his head, words leaving his mouth;

"No Ma," He replied. His gaze on her. As they both shared a warm smile to each other. Putting his gaze on the table. A red and black cloth cover drapes over the sides of an oak wooden table shaped as a semi oval. In the middle an hourglass shaped plum color vase. There are a handful of freshly picked medium purple colored lavenders, resting inside the vase. With a hand laying over her chest. His mother looked at him.

"Wilbur, would you like to help out with dinner?" His mother asked with a sweet voice. The corners of her lips moving up to her ears. As a soft, warm smile shows.

"Of course, ma." Wilbur answered her. With a turn on his heel, he made his way to the kitchen to help his mother. Grabbing plates for the table in his hands. Being as gentle as he can in order to not break them. Slowly walking to the table to lay the plates down.