The dingy room
was dimly lit; a lone beam came from a small lamp set on the low table. Shadows danced across the wooden walls,
making everything uncertain in the half-light.
The room possessed the musty, dirty aura that only a teenaged boy could
give it. A series of taps, raps, and
crashes issued from the closet, where the figure of a young boy could be
seen. The boy was about fourteen in age
with round hazel eyes. His short dark
brown hair hung straight on his forehead, wet with perspiration. The lad was stooped over a crate, muttering
incoherently to himself. Suddenly, a
loud crash was followed by the words,
“Oh, what’s this? Oh yes!
I will need this!” The boy
abruptly stood up and dashed to his bed, carrying an indistinguishable piece of
cloth. He quickly stuffed it into a
small leather case which lay open upon his coverlet. The boy looked around the room. His wild gestures were slightly jerky and
dramatic, of the kind that made one wonder if he had full control over his
movements. Like a child who is not all
there—if you take my meaning—it seemed as though he would never stop his incessant
muttering or motion.
He began to count his fingers,
ticking off the items he had already packed.
“Shirt—got it. Pants—got ‘em. Underwear—well, I never use it. But what the heck, I’ll pack it anyway.”
After this astonishing revelation,
the boy returned to his closet, where he once again began his absurd search for
traveling items. His mumbling had not
ceased; rather, it was definitely more audible at this point.
“Where is it? Where is it?!
I know it’s around here somewhere.”
The boy began to throw clothes, pillows, and all manner of objects over
his shoulder in his hunt for the missing and unknown valuable item.
“Ah-ha!” he finally cried, his hand
deep within a small sack of flour lying on the floor, “Here it is! Boy! I definitely could not leave home without
this! This will most assuredly come in
handy… most important. Couldn’t have
forgotten it!” He pulled his hand out of
the powdery baking ingredient and held up a small round object for inspection. It was a bright yellow yo-yo, freshly painted
and shining beneath its coat of dust. He
smiled at it fondly before shoving it roughly in his pocket.
The brown-haired boy went back to
his trunk. His animated expressions and
movements ceased for only a second. He
glanced almost sadly around the wrecked room, with its various toys, clothes,
and other junk scattered all over the floor.
He let out a sigh, and with that sigh passed his melancholy
appearance. He jumped slightly for no
reason whatsoever, if just to put a spring in his step. Hurriedly grabbing his trunk, he closed it
and clasped it, and headed toward the door.
Once outside, the boy stopped on the
steps. He peered up and down the dusty
road and looked up at the stars. The
house behind him lay dark and silent; it was asleep just as its other
inhabitants were. The boy mumbled to
himself again.
“Well…well….well,” he said, putting
a different inflection on each one of the words, “This is it. It’s all over. I am free.
No more work. No more
nagging. No more school. No more picking. No more weird looks (it’s like people think I
am crazy). That’s it. It’s all over. Good-bye home! Good-bye family! Good-bye annoying little sister! Farewell!
Adieu! Say good-bye to Brianskin,
for you shall never see him again!”
A spectator, at first glance, would
have said that the boy was happy. But
the cicada and the squirrel sitting on the roof were close observers. As the boy traipsed down the road, the two
animals heard him whisper to himself,
“Oh…but he will miss you.”
And that was it. The house never did see Brianskin again,
though we can’t say so much for the cicada and the squirrel. As his silhouette disappeared into the night,
the two animals raced off to report to their superiors.
THE END
…or is it?
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