The boy is lonely and curious. He never stops asking you questions. You don't give a complete answer for any of them. Eventually you stop answering altogether.
You walk several hours without a word between you and the boy. Finally you open the book to the next page and start reading. Beware friendships. Either never make one, or guard yours with your life and everyone else's.
You already made one. An allegiance, at the least. You decide you now have to work to keep both of you alive.
So where did you get the book? the boy asks.
You sigh. You should answer him. You know you should, but you don't want to. I found it.
Where?
You grit your teeth in annoyance. You realize how you took the earlier silence for granted. I found it in a wrecked car. It was sitting there on the seat. It was perfectly fine.
Oh. The boy is silent. But only for a moment. Do you know what it is?
It's a book. An instruction manual. You just want him to stop talking.
Sure. But do you know who wrote it, and when, and why? And how it reads your mind? His eyes are large and challenging now. They keep changing colors.
No, you say.
The boy grins and turns away. You blink. He knows how to smile.
He is silent. You realize he wants you to ask him to tell you. You decide you won't give him the satisfaction of asking. You walk silently for several hours.
