His Nepenthe | complete

0. Slow

S L O W D O W N

*

One boy, with piercing blue eyes, ran down the stairs, pulling off his shirt as his mother laughed, telling him to slow down.

I stood - watching, breathing - as the boy laughed, the sound echoing eerily as the bright sunny day starting to mist over with dark clouds. The looming storm brought a patterning to the ground - spots of splattered rain scattered haphazardly along the pavement.

I took in my surroundings, recognising the house as every cliché happy family's dream. The woman played the role of a perfect, caring, loving mother and wife. The small boy, the son of perfection, was the reflection of innocence and childlike wonder, freckles scattered like stars across his sun-blemished cheeks.

The drops of rain that hit the ground began to freeze in their place. A glassy reflection replaced the patterning - glassy and dangerous for the boy who was running at what was so slow yet far too fast.

I tried to reach out, to scream, to tell the kid to stop running. To be careful.

But, I couldn't move. I couldn't scream. I couldn't even mumble.

I was trapped by a mime's claustrophobic box. The only sound that pieced my eardrums was an eerie echo of fake laughter, the beat of a slow heart that I knew wasn't mine, and the sound of my shallow breath.

Then there was no sound anymore.

Nothing but the vision of the young boy slipping, smashing his head into the concrete floor, blood painting the ground in a mural of agony.

His limp body was dragged along the path, the ragdoll movements following the invisible force that wanted to take his body into the pool which hadn't been visible before.

He had no time to react. He was unable to gasp for air, unable to move.

I stood unmoving, incapable of helping, incapable of screaming for help as the boy sunk further into the clear water - untainted by his bleeding head.

The bubbles broke the surface of the still water without a ripple, water that reflected the clouds, like the boy had never fallen in.

I wasn't moving myself, but the edge of the water seemed to etch closer to me, allowing me to stare at the dead boy.

His eyes were glassy. Empty. Like he'd become smashed ice.

The boy was limp as his eyes stared up to the now clear sky, his body suspended within in the water as if he were in some kind of void; gone and forgotten. I used everything I could to reach for his hand, mine now only inches away.

But then there was nothing.

There wasn't a trace of blood on the cement where he had smashed his head. No trace of it in the pristine pool. There was no boy.