The White Flower

Round 5- Round em' up!

Have you ever seen the moon play with the sun? They poke above the horizon on each side of the world, they mix and mash beautifully opposite colors. The stars fading to clouds, the black sky turning light as they kiss each other goodbye.

The birds chirped, and the settlement began to wake. The hunters went out to check their traps, the traders loading up their carts, and the children. Two by two, their eyes batted open. Deep into the little village of this native tribe, there was a boy who didn't belong. His voice temporarily cutaway in the name of God, his body tossed into the unknown, and his poor mind was left shattered. Scattered like the family he left behind, if only to save them.

The boy would be left with marks to remember it all. Life would take, and crush him, time and time again. He may think he's dead, may think it's over, but the heartbreak has only begun. A month's past and he still doesn't know the freedom he fought so courageously for. But today, under the rising sun, and bustling people, he will wake. In a small cabin, deep in the village infirmary, he sleeps. A surge, much like liquor catching fire, will drag him from his coma. A burst of energy, and up he gets.

Now he wakes, first it's a twitch of his hand. Nobody notices, the doctor starts his first rounds to check on the sick. Slowly, behind his closed lids, his eyes begin to move, his heart beats a little faster. Suddenly, he's conscious, his eyelids limp, but his mind alive. Panic, and fear, they're good motivators, he fought to open his eyes. To search the room around him in a panic, to analyze the fading ache that plagued his body. No water sat near in the room, the poor boy was probably dying of thirst. He shook with every move he made, trembled as he took his first few steps.

Why was he alive, he thought. Where was he, he wondered. Who brought him here, he feared.

The wood room was quite small, a bed, a side table, a dresser, and one door. The wood felt rough beneath his feet, they started to ache at the unfamiliar sensation. When he finally reached the door, the boy was out of breath, clutching the wall to rest his tired body. He held the doorknob in a sweaty grip, and when the door was pulled open, he fell through to the floor. His little strength evaporated into the hot air, floating up, and away. His body hit with a thud, it alerted the women there to his miraculous lucid state. They looked at him in fear, in curiosity, this boy was so different from the people who resided here. A complete mystery for the people to talk about, the latest entertainment was making stories to explain his origin. But, they didn't really know, none of them could truly imagine the horrors he'd seen. Well, nobody yet.

"No," it was the only word he could understand amongst the foreign language.

He shuffled back into the room with haste, he wasn't familiar with what the world had to show him. He knew of people who looked so different, he wasn't stupid, just unsocialized with such new environments. How far must he be that he's not even in a hospital? He never heard of such different people living on lands close to his community. He made it into his room before the woman advanced on him, sweeping his arm up gently. It caught him off guard at the graceful movements of the woman, precise and gentle. Now he was really inquisitive as to where he was. He had hardly known such softness.

His throat felt odd and airy, but he allowed her to mindlessly guide him back to the bed. The doorway was filled with people who were abruptly shooed away, a man with the same tanned complexion walked in. He almost smiled at the life that moved in the boy's body. By the looks of the boy, he's almost healed. "Hi, my name is Dr.Hike Aadi. I'm sure you have a lot of questions, but we need to ask you some first." The man was tall and fit. He didn't wear furs like his people, he wore clothes from the towns. A black long sleeve beneath his white coat, some Levi jeans, and running shoes. "What's your name?" The doctor pressed the boy, to be fair, anyone would be inpatient after a month of waiting. Anyone would be wary under the circumstances, it was all very odd for this quiet tribe.

The boy was a whirlwind of emotions, so much stuff wanted to flood from his mouth. He didn't want to ramble, confuse the events, or say something they didn't like. So he took his time forming his words, the things he needed to say. The woman, and Dr.Aadi, looked at him expectantly. The boy licked his lips and took in a deep breath.

It brought tears to his eyes, the scratchy feeling raged through his throat. Like a fire had been set in his lungs, cruelly burning hottest in his throat. The violent attack that left him plummeting into cold water, cost him his voice. For the next four months at least, the boy with quite a story would be mute. Unable to tell the real tales of what he presumed, was his past, "okay. Okay, just lay down." The doctor soothed him, the boy looked at the floor tearfully, shamefully. Beaten into him was the notion that men don't cry, and until he could shake the lies he was fed, he'd always be a boy.

The doctor spoke orders to the woman in a foreign tongue, she left on a mission. The man sat beside him with a hand on the boy's shoulder, "in time you'll heal. In time you'll be able to tell what you know, healing is something you mustn't force." The man stood softly and walked away, everything about these people was soft. Yet, when you looked at how they lived. You'd see it requires strength, inside and out. Soon the woman returns with drinking water and a cup of herbal tea. She helped him to drink slowly, and she watched him fall asleep. Her heart breaks for the fragile boy before her, she may not speak his language, or know his story. But, she's seen the scars he wears. She's cared for him from the day he arrived, his neck was savagely slashed by fool. Their shallow cuts allowed the boy to be found alive, even if he was hanging by a thread. They cut his vocal cords, along with beating him pretty bad. His stomach was a complete mess of stab wounds, he's lucky Dr.Aadi is so good at what he does. Fate must have favored him because, when the woman they call Brit, first laid eyes on him, he was almost void of life. She didn't think he'd make it through the night, but here they were. Maybe in the days she'd watched him she developed an attachment, the boy was perplexing.

The body he's in says he's a man, the boy had proudly grown into it not long ago. The scars on his body tell the story of a man, but the way he carries himself screams a boy. She wanted to peel him apart, carefully read his layers to map him out.

She wanted to know, why he was the way he was, so like every day, she sits in his room. Reading her books until the sun's at its highest, peeking over at the fair-skinned boy with no name. If only she knew how to fix his pain stained face, even while he slept he was distressed. If only to save him, what Brit didn't know about the boy with no name was. The pain she sees will never fade, while he lay sleeping in that bed, recovering from his grand escape. His friends were hunted like animals, every child, every rouge teen, hunted and brought back to a 'holy community' to repent for their crimes. His hope was that if he took the hardest parts, it'd helped them escape, what will happen when he finds out their gone. When he finds out he fought so hard to get the ones he loved killed, to escape alone.

Only time could tell what would happen, but it's safe to say he's in good hands with Brit. Her soul was a beautiful adaption of the ocean, kind, unbiased, and strong. She'd stand by him, let's just hope he lets her.