Almond Boy

Almond Boy - 8

It's been two days, and Emma is still not back. Elliot's asked the school counselors, and all they say is "she's going to be fine," or "I'm sorry, I can't tell you of her condition", or even worse, "I don't know". 

He can't get her out of his mind. That day keeps replaying over and over, and now he wishes he pulled her back down when she stood up. Or even moreso, he wishes that the minute that bitchy girl started to say something he would have stood up and screamed at her himself. 

Dumb bitch, is the title he gives her now. He can't remember the girl's name for the life of him, and frankly, he no longer gives a damn. 

His next picture in his sketchbook is of when Emma was completely slouched over, that being the most constant image in his mind, with her hair covering her face and her body looking smaller than ever. 

He's added strings around her collapsed form, like she was a broken marionette. It would make her look less human. It made it easier to deal with. 

She is not something without life. She doesn't need someone to control her movements to keep her up and moving. 

But that wasn't the whole truth. Elliot knew better. If you can't breathe, it makes it a lot harder to keep yourself afloat. Emma's lungs were toxic, and soon she'd be just as crumpled as the puppet in the picture.