Little Boy Billy

Little Boy Billy was walking along the sidewalk. There was no one here. He took a rolled up cockroach from his pockets, threw it unto the ground, and spat on it. Little Boy Billy was always a sort of closet rebel - he made a lot of mistakes, but only the kinds no one ever sees.

True to his reputation, his eyes saw right. There was nothing else around him, no adults, no people, no anything. The blackness in the world enveloped him, and he hugged it all in return. He reached out his hands, and leaned against the solitary lighted lamppost along the street. He said, talking to the little lamppost: 'What am I here for?'

The lamppost dimmed then relighted, delighted in his questioning. It shook, trembled against his touch. But it remained cold, stone-cold to him. 

And Little Boy Billy became a little sad. He sighed, and pushed his leaning weight off the lamppost, and he felt his heart, checking his vitals. His lungs felt warm, his heart felt empty, but blood - blood was rushing all along his chest. He was all he ever needed, but Little Boy Billy felt a little left-out in this world. All the blood in his body wasn't enough to keep him satisfied, keep him sated, keep him warm. He wanted more, a touch of redness, maybe the blushes on a hand, even some hot vacuous coagulated blood on a mother's nostril would do the trick. Little Boy Billy was not sick or evil, he was just misunderstood. Just misunderstood.

Little Boy Billy felt a night butterfly graze his face. It's blue luminescent petal-like wings grazing his black tee as it glittered by. It batted its antennae at him, and he felt himself falling in love with this filthy creature.

There was no accepting his enamor. He'd be a paramour, one who stuck his heart into volcanic, forbidden lands. Lands too tiny to have been explored already. Lands too small for the ego that is his. Little Boy Billy, expecting rejection of the highest order, rejected himself.

He squashed his love in his hands, and they became sticky - sticky with vacuous aqueous. Little Boy Billy stared at his hands - a congealed mix of red and blue luminescence stared back at him. He felt warmth lasting for 10 seconds. He knew he was sucking it away himself, he knew he was guilty of seeping away the thing's heat. But if it was dead already- what goodness was there in wasting heat?

Little Boy Billy smiled at the 8 second mark. He wasn't that alo-(1 second)-ne anymore.

0 seconds.Time's up, Little Billy.And he plunged into the darkness once more.