most likely goodies ; an update book

despondency

oops

~

"I would."

The crowd's mouths gaped at the boy who stood in the back. He looked a bit young compared to Brice, but no one had recalled seeing someone like that show up at the beginning of the funeral. Regardless, he strolled up towards the front of the podium and the priest shifted aside. He breathed in, trying to relax himself.

"I see," he took a pause, "that pills are the only way to solve things around here."

Brice's mother froze, wide eyed and shaking. She released a stifled sob, her heart pounding and her senses becoming numb. Dr. Dahlberg rubbed her back, surprised that the boy who perfectly matched Brice's description was standing at the podium. He still wasn't convinced, however, it could have just been a coincidence.

"Adorned are the words despondency on all of our emotions; grief filled with no solace. At the unfortunate death of someone who was driven crazy by pills, this could have all been prevented," the boy took another deep breath, "if only had I chose to show my being to the mother."

"He's happier now, of course. It was life or death, and it was his time to go, simple as that. No matter how many tears you'd shed for this boy, he's never coming back. No one wants to be here besides his mother; the rest remaining are only here for pity," he took a short smile, breathing in, "funny how the truth may hurt."

"And you gave you the right to speak ill to this boy's family!" Dr. Dahlberg shouted while standing up, furious. "Just who are you!"

"Seto," the name snatched their attention.

Before he could retort, the boy's body set into flames, then abruptly disappeared. The smell of warm ashes and vanilla stood adrift in the air, leaving only silence and recollection.

The boy was never seen again.

***

Brice's mother couldn't handle her own curiosity.

Alone at her house built up brick by brick from memories, she sobbed helplessly. The memory of her own son was beginning to fade; only the reminisce of his presence being in the form of pills sitting in the pantry. Rows upon rows yearning for overdosage—Brice was normal.

Her memory of the boy adorned in flames, however, did not cease.

She one day found herself cowering over a book with pages of smiling children left at her doorstep. Death upon death—suffrage upon suffrage; it phased through her. Traumatized, she did not want to feel anymore.

Why was this left at my doorstep?

The last page of the book was a boy—one awfully familiar to say the least. A short boy with brunet hair, pale skin, pale pink lips, mocha colored eyes, a cubby face, and a skinny frame stood smiling in the picture. An exact look alike of the boy who bursted into flames (with the exception of being much younger). Below was a paragraph. Her eyes strolled through it, vision blurring and hands shaking.

SEPTEMBER 1692 — COLONIAL MASSACHUSETTS

"Above depicts four year old 'SETO' before his execution. Accused of being a supernatural creature; parents were previously starved to death within jail for same reason (awaiting trial). Proven guilty but years later to be announced as innocent; public execution by being burnt alive."