Scattered Dreams & Dragonflies

The knife and the sapling

It was a rather tranquil summer night. The birds had settled into their nests as their arduous cries along the evening signaled the end of the day. The sun tucked in for the night, as the last rays bathed the flowers in kisses, turning them up for bed. A beautiful view to some, as the night crashed down like a delicate river downstream. To others, pain and agony, stress and intense chaos ensued. The night's beauty tarnished, the morning and sunset were nothing but an afterthought to those chased by the wicked evil around us. It knows no bounds, and as such, regardless of the beauty of nature around it, it looked for its next victim in the innocent soul of a young boy.

The quiet of night, now settled in through the forest, was once more tarnished as the scattered steps of a young boy ravaged through the unadulterated forest floors. With every hastened step, patches of dirt lifted from the ground, as the boy ran in the direction closest to him. Trees beyond trees, all the same in his eyes, all nothing, all pointless, were lost in his rear view as he fled the danger that tormented him. Behind, but a few steps away, chased a man covered in black. Only his red eyes were in view, as he traversed through the forest chasing down the boy. Persecution without reason, in the boy's eyes, a man with evil intent chased him down. His motive was unknown, but the boy knew that haste was of the essence at the very least.

He ran, and ran, as fast and strongly as he could, hoping that everything that chased him, the torment, the scary sensation, the pain that would follow, were all left behind. His running brought him to an abandoned wooden shed. The once robust building found itself on its last legs, as the humidity had taken control of its once sturdy walls. The slippery wood was covered in moss, verdant, yet slippery to the touch. Pieces of the wooden panels were either broken or scattered around as holes adorned the sides of most, if not all, the wood making the walls. The boy pushed into what remained of a door in his way. With a subtle creak, the door opened, falling flat on its face. No light or adornments inside, but an empty shell of what once was, served its last purpose in life, as the boy in hiding believed he had found sanctuary within these paper-thin and weak walls.

He failed to understand, however, the man who chased him down was not too far away, and so without much time to hide, the boy found himself cornered within the four walls of the abandoned place. The man stood at the foot of the entrance, staring down at his prey. The boy stood tightly against the wall, his heavy breathing a sign of increasing desperation and stress. The man breathed heavily through his darkened ebony mask as well; however, his heavy breathing came more from anticipation. With every step, he felt himself salivate, as he had finally found what he had looked for. Fresh blood, to satiate the hunger for what he wanted most in this life. He craved death, pain, shrieks brought him satisfaction. Just the very thought of it made him anxious, desperate at the premise of inflicting pain on a suspecting victim.

Within moments, the man had reached the cornered boy. His hand, now within reach, gently caressed his face. The boy cowered in fear, tilting his head to the side, closing his eyes. He leaned once more, hard against the wood. Ironically, the wall he had chosen was the sturdiest in the home. Such was the life of the boy, being halted by a faulty building, carrying in it one last hurrah, an unyielding wall that served its purpose, contrary to what the boy needed at the time. With his escape now closed, the boy had to make one last choice: to fight or renounce his fate and let it consume him.

The man, still enthralled by the moment, paralyzed by his anticipation, stood in front of the boy. The boy scattered his hands in the darkness, hoping to find anything that would help. In that moment, the boy found, to his surprise, a sharp piece of wood. Nothing special or extravagant by self-defense standards, but in this particular scenario, a golden token, a brief silver lining in this all too unfortunate scenario. The boy, without much thought, grabbed the piece of wood strongly, to the point the splinters in opposite directions cut deeply into his skin. All that was left was to wait for the perfect moment to strike.

The man, now adjusted to the scenario before him, prepared himself to feast, and with a deep breath and a sharp sheathing sound, took out a knife. Kneeling down to the boy's face, he remained close. That was when the boy, without much thought, put all of his chips on the faulty piece of the rotten home. Lifting his hand from the darkness, he plunged the piece of sharp wood strongly against the shoulder of the man. To the sound of wincing pain from the wicked man, the boy took a chance. As the man stepped back in pain, grabbing the wooden piece stuck to his shoulder, the boy ran as quickly as he could towards the exit.

In his mind, he saw it—the way out, an open straight line taking him one more step towards salvation. His excitement was such that his body was overcome with a cold, sheering sensation. The sensation was rather odd, estranged to him, as even within steps of the door, he found himself lacking the haste he had a few seconds ago. The coldness came with an overwhelming sense of tiredness. With it, he felt a cold shiver that made him sweat profusely. However, what he believed to be sweat in his shirt was quickly revealed as something else. The boy looked at his shirt only to find out there was something sticking from it. Amidst the melee, his adrenaline had covered him with a certain sense of invincibility, one that failed to account for the man in front of him, who had in response managed to stab the boy through the back as he moved past him.

With the sudden realization of what had happened, the boy fell to his knees. In his hand, the thickness of his blood quickly hardened, leaving stains of the outcome, a situation, a predicament with a clear ending and decision. Within his moment in time, and the quickly expiring light in his eyes, he looked upwards, toward the sky. Through the holes in the ceiling, he could catch one last glimpse of the stars. His family, his friends, his unrequited love, his past mistakes, his beautiful coincidences, his highs, his lows, flew around him like constellations, as they swam across him, bathing him in clear blue rivers with a light shade of red. The stars danced around him as his tired eyes closed slowly, and with them, the boy's vessel remained on its knees, staring at the sky which in turn watched over him.

The man, removing the piece of wood from his shoulder, left the site, passing by the boy's body without so much as a look. In his eyes, a look of sadness. Tears fell down them as he was ultimately deprived of his long release by a boy who struggled like wildfire, even amidst the presence of a typhoon of death. At the foot of the empty home, the man left a small note. In it, an address, for the one he knew was behind, tailing him. And so, with his saddened look, the man lost himself amongst the darkness, awaiting the next stage of the game.