Stories and poems are not true, just something born in my head.
The Boy With No Name
He looked quite normal.Not that kind of boy you would look after when he
passed you, and not that kind of boy who would make
you vomit. I think he was about 170 cm tall, black hair
almost down to his shoulders, quite slim, and
looked a bit nerd. Actually there was nothing to say
about him. Just one thing, (I think I'm the only one who noticed)
he would never wear a t-shirt,
not even on hot summer days.
I got almost possessed over this 'sweater-mystery'
and started to watch over him at school.
Not like a detective, checked his fingerprints
and things like that, but I checked out who he hang with,
what he ate at lunch, which courses he had and so on.
And at first I discovered nothing.
After a couple of months,
I recognized some small differences in his behaviour.
He looked more nervous when there were a lot of people
around him. The same clothes were used over a longer period.
He ate less and slower at lunch, and always in a corner
of the cantina. One day I think I saw a small stripe of blood
on his left hand, but only for a very short time,
and then it was gone. Maybe it was just imagination.
Slow ly I started to talk to his classmates, asked them about him.
But slow, very slow,
I spent two months just small-talking in the cantina
before I mentioned him. But they knew nothing.
Nobody knew anything about his family, if he had any friends,
or where he lived. At this time I've been possessed by
the whole boy, not just his 'sweater-mystery'.
And I kept wondering about him, dreamed of him in the night
and became almost reckless in my watching over him.
He looked more nervous than earlier,
when I passed him in the corridor I noticed that he really smelled,
and he didn't eat in the cantina anymore.
His face went pale and grey, the green eyes almost sank
into his skull, and the body inside the baggy clothes became thin
and bony. I wanted to know what went on inside him,
but I couldn't ask, there was no really relationship between us,
I just watched him.
One day something quite dramatic happened,
when he fell down the stairs over the banister,
and smashed in the front hall floor 3 metres below.
He vanished as he hit the floor, somebody ran over to him,
blood all over. When they found out where the blood came from,
someone pulled of him the sweater and bandaged his
whole left arm. Now I understood why he wouldn't wear T-shirts.
I've never seen so many scars and wounds at one single arm.
He weren't seriously injured, just broke the left arm.
Still it took over two weeks before he was back at school,
looking like a dead man walking.
He seemed even more nervous than earlier, shaking in public areas,
looked terribly frightened when people came close to him,
and kept looking around himself like someone were following.
Something felt wrong about him, but I couldn't put my finger on in exactly.
Those last six or seven weeks almost nothing happened,
he just kept wandering the corridors like the walking skeleton he was.
I felt so weird watching over him, like I knew something tragic
were coming soon.
One day he showed up in black pants, black short-sleeved shirt,
and a grey tie. I knew something was about to happen.
His hair was newly washed and set up in a kind of pony-tail.
Actually I've never seen him so beautiful as that day.
He walked like ' I'm the King of the World, and nothing
can ever stop me'. His arms looked terrible, withdeep wounds
and a lot of scars. And suddenly I realised that this was the last day
I would ever see him.
I admit I cried when I read the death notice.
That's the first time I saw his name.
I, I can remember (I remember)
Standing by the wall (by the wall)
And the guns, shot above our heads (over our heads)
And we kissed, as though nothing could fall (nothing could fall)
And the shame, was on the other side
Oh we can beat them, for ever and ever
Then we could be Heroes, just for one day
David Bowie *Heroes*
Short story by barbeina
Read 1630 times
Written on 2006-02-06 at 16:35
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text|
kid |
|
Teala |
|
Stine Mari Thomassen |
|
she |
|
Marie |
|
|
Marie |
|
Zoya Zaidi |
| Texts |
 by barbeina Latest textsKristian and EcuadorAmanda from Peru Charlotte Our Crystal Night The first snow |
Increase font
Decrease