Mon Coryphée
"Prelude"
"That slide."
Sniffles. Hiccups. Teardrops. They were never seen. He'd always make sure of it.
"There was always a sad, little boy on that slide."
The boy's eyes were empty and blank. Nothing filled them. They were devoid of all feeling. Or, so it always appeared.
"He sat at the top, forlorn and lost in thought."
The schoolchildren meandered around the play set, inherently leery and curious of the boy atop the slide. Some other boys playing Four-Square were reluctant to retrieve the kickball that bounced into the woodchip pen. The girls didn't mind the lonesome boy too much; instead, they always had something to say about him.
"Hey. Did you hear…?"
"Yeah. That kid, he's supposed to…"
"I've learned never to pay too much attention to anything I hear, growing up."
"Whoa. That's gotta be so brutal…!" the hearer chirped under her breath. Her fists were clenched and bobbing back and forth. "Why doesn't he just quit, though?"
The boy never moved. The boy never spoke.
"That's because his dad won't let him."
His sadness was never perceived. He made sure it never could.
"And apparently, so has he."
A zephyr made his quills sway. Its gentleness didn't make him stir. But shiver. It was a quiet shiver.
It was a sad.
Pitiful.
And forsaken shiver. From the loneliest boy I'd ever seen.
"And all I've ever wanted was to hold him tight."
Prelude Set…