Scattered Dreams & Dragonflies

The shed and the dagger

The night cries arduously; there is nothing but sorrow and angst in the air. As the rain bathes the boy strongly, hiding his tears mixed with frantic desperation, he runs incessantly, unyielding, even amongst the confusing dark of night. The forest, a labyrinth in his eyes, is the real antagonist in the grand scheme of things, as the curtain of the true story and ending remained but a secret covered tightly behind closed doors. The wind was cold, and his skin was wary. Goosebumps constantly arose as he attempted to traverse the dark of night alone, with the moon amongst the trees.

He sought solace, warm peace in the thought of a healthy outcome. He thought of his friend's safety, the one he wanted to see once more. He could remember his face, his smile, as they shared each other's company. His smile, now but an echo in his mind as he tailed them both. The man that had chased his friend, without a clear purpose, as far as he could understand, and his friend who, amongst everything, he wanted to see once more.

To the beat of his feet, like a desperate dance of a man swarmed in fire, the boy moved again and again. His vision, without a clear destination, his mind, wrapped in a sea of uncertainty, anxiety as an uninvited guest made itself comfortable in his eyes. He was lost and weak, his breathing as heavy as a boy his age could be. All he could do was pray and run in any direction as best as he could, already understanding his effort could very well not be reciprocated now or ever.

As luck would have it, the boy found himself in front of the closest thing to a lead he could find. A dirty abandoned shed now graced his presence as the boy admired it in all its splendor. The once home to someone had seen better days, the signs of well-passed time only served as a memory as it stood in a poor, deteriorated state. Suffice it to say, it was at this point, regardless of its past accolades, no more than a worthless piece of trash. However, in very specific circumstances, like the one the boy found himself in, it served as momentary solace to those seeking refuge. Given these thoughts, the boy walked steadily inside.

Some, if not all, stories in life are bound to the infinite grace of nature. That being said, there is no predisposed purpose or direction that one could take that could place us in control of anything. If you achieved something, you earned something, it was already meant for you. If you lose something, if you suffer in pain, that pain was always yours to begin with. To this I say, neither you nor I are special as it pertains to our human counterparts. Life, in its infinity of possibilities and uncontrolled randomness, owes us nothing. Just as us, the boy once more found himself learning this through that fated night as he neared the shed.

The boy, now at the footsteps of the shed, found that the rain had taken its course. He could admire the subtle remnants of footsteps, slowly pulled into unrecognition by the constant running water, coming down from the cracked and weakened ceiling. Within considerable distance, he could see the water flowing outwards from the barely visible inside of the home. His eyes firmly stared at the ground, as he noticed that beyond the marks on the floor, the water carried a stranger. In its path, reddish shades danced among the currents, some the boy could only perceive by kneeling down and using the subtle light of his phone. With this, his mind wandered towards the worst.

Blood could be seen as a sign of catastrophe, death, pain, in an otherwise pitiful and saddening scenario. In other cases, blood could be seen as the interpretation of conception and purpose. A new life cannot be brought without bloodshed, as the mother welcomes from her womb a new life. Such blood is meant to be shed to bring a new soul into this pitiful world. Such is the exchange. However, the latter was more than unusual at this stage in time, and as such, the boy drowned in pessimism.

Lifting his head, the boy looked one last time from the outside. With each step nearing the entrance, the image slowly became clearer and clearer. Soon, the silhouette of what looked like a human figure came into play. At its smaller stance, the boy thought of a statue, kneeling in the middle of the room. However, it was not as he had innocently believed, in spite of the overwhelming calamity-themed evidence. The boy had come face to face with the image of his beloved friend, the one he desperately wanted to see smile again, at his knees, eyes open and staring into the constellations up above.

With his mind blank, and anger at its highest, his frustration manifested in the form of a bone-chilling cry. His body gave out as he fell at the feet of the former shell of his friend. His face locked in place towards the ground, he was defeated, tired, and overwhelmed. In that moment, he could feel the coldness of the inviting floor, the water still going in through the crevices in the ceiling was cold, as the sounds of the pouring stream of water echoed across the empty home. The boy wanted sleep, he was consumed by grief and pain. He wanted no more, and as life would have it, staring to his side, he had found something that, in theory, could provide him with the peace he so wanted at the time.

A lone piece of wood, tainted with a subtle red at the sharpest edge, lay at his side, within arm's reach. With it, his mind spiraled. Holding on to it was almost calming, such an easy task, necessary to dim the lights and end the frustration, the suffering forever, a gateway to send him "Home" was all he wanted. He wanted the gates of heaven on a silver platter, even if knowing that this was not a fitting end. He had found solace in the fact that a gentle goodnight, at the hands of himself, would bring him as fast as possible to a painless infinity, a flux of light and colors, and a shutdown forever.

And so, with his mind nearing a conclusive decision, he held tightly to the wooden splint-covered humid dagger, placing it directly, yet slowly, within its destined trajectory. He stopped one last time. He looked at his friend, the one he had sworn to see laugh, the one who was no longer there. He stared at the former shell, the last reminder of his existence, the same that would soon disappear as well. In that moment, he convinced himself that he wanted the same, to once again continue the chase, and this time reach him, finding him kneeling once more, but not as he was now, instead readying himself to play marbles as they used to.

As his decisive mind signaled the order to execute his coveted plan, his eyes jumped momentarily. A wet piece of paper lay close by his friend's side. Now plagued with sudden curiosity, the boy lowered the weapon, and bringing the piece of paper gently without breaking it, closer to his face, proceeded to read. On the paper lay letters, reminiscent of a familiar message. An address of a place all too familiar came to mind, and with it, the boy's plans had changed. Now, with a destination in sight, the boy raised his head, and on his feet, with a subtle caress of his friend's cheek, wooden splint in hand, he turned his body around and exited the shed under the cold late-night rain.