Boy made of words
There was once a boy made of words. He was nondescript and small, thick lashes that held clusters of broken images. Pictures painted hid in the crevices of his fingers, and long forgotten conversations rested upon his lips. He was words, inky and beautifully strange. Words that were fading.
When it rained, the boy would shy away, for words were not for getting wet. Trembling underneath cover, he would close his eyes, letting the words, of which he was made, tumble around inside him, a downpour of his very own.
Open eyes, see the words recede.
Girl strands, on tiptoes. Round face, big eyes. Not plain, not pretty. She sees the boy, and he takes her words away. She frowns, wondering what she was about to say. He waits for more words, but the girl stays quiet. A fleeting look of fear across her face – then wonderment appears, tugging corners of her lips into a smile. She raises a hand, not a pointing, or a gesturing – simply an acknowledgment.
I see you.
Do you see me?
He, the boy made of words, is perplexed. Words, for once, do not present themselves – they stay behind the curtains, murmuring, watching the boy.
The boy stands.
SETTING: dreary english field. Downpour.
CHARACTERS: a small, nondescript boy who has no words. A girl, very much her own, who is waiting.
BOY: raises head slightly, frowns. Lifts an arm, then a hand.
GIRL: shifts weight from one foot to another.
BOY: waves hand. Coughs.
GIRL: tilts head from side to side, then raises hand.
BOY: unsure, takes a step forward, then retreats.
GIRL: “Are you real?”
BOY: stands still. Looks at girl.
GIRL: “I don’t mind if you’re not real. You can still say hello.”
BOY: pauses, takes a breath. “Hello.”
GIRL: “I’m real. I said hello. You said hello, so you must be real.”
MOTHER: (from far away) “Claire? Claire, where are you?”
BOY: looks at girl. Raises an eyebrow.
GIRL: “I’m Claire.”
BOY: nods. Starts to walk away.
CLAIRE: “Goodbye… Elliot.”
BOY: stops. Turns to look at CLAIRE.
CLAIRE: smiles and runs away.
The new word burns in his chest. He closes his eyes, and all he sees is the word.
Then… Claire. The word glows softly, unlike any word he’d ever held.
Claire Claire Claire Claire Claire.
Elliot opened his eyes.