¡§It¡¦s my firm belief that we¡¦re all destined for someone. No matter who we are or what we are, someone is out there, as one¡¦s other half, living his/her life like we are, going through life as strong as possible without each other. No matter what we choose to be, what we choose to act like, or what we choose to put ourselves through, there¡¦s always going to be that someone we all eventually meet, no matter what the circumstances, who will take care of us, guiding us through the harsh times life chooses to barricade us with.¡¨
-Taken from The Fine Line, by W.T. Riker
~
It¡¦s Will¡¦s birthday; his seventh, and while waiting outside, in the night, and his backyard, where the woods and trees mingle and watch as the world spins past them and sometimes impede on their territory, the day darkens, providing the excitement young ¡§Willy¡¨ counted on.
But out of the peace and before elementary chaos reigns the Riker family, the stars arrive before all others, and the youngest of the clan traces them with his scrawny finger, as the tales woven into his childhood mind begin to unravel and take on the voice of this mother.
But as reality and truth takes over, so did his friends and family, all of them basking in the celebration of his birth, or more importantly, the sweets which enveloped the long wooden table that once was.
¡§Daddy!¡¨
Catching him in his arms, Kyle Riker smiled the familiar smile his son often counted on when confronting him with news of lesser pride.
¡§Oooh, you¡¦re getting heavy!¡¨ He made a face then, squinting his eyes and pursing his mouth, eliciting a giggle from the blue-eyed wonder. ¡§How old are you? Four? Fourteen?¡¨ He gasped, turned toward his wife, who had long begun the chore of clearing off space for plates on the overcrowded table. ¡§Honey! Don¡¦t tell me h-he¡¦s...fourty?¡¨
A laugh this time; showing off his son¡¦s white teeth.
That he inherited from Kyle, of course.
¡§Daddy! I¡¦m seven!¡¨
¡§Oh...that¡¦s right...¡¨ And then a thinner smile crossed Riker¡¦s lips as he reached into his pocket. ¡§Then I should think that a seven year-old would want...this!¡¨
Out of the corners of the lint-covered, worn-out pocket came a tiny box, and Will¡¦s hopes were shattered. What could possibly be in such a tiny box that he could want?
Nothing good, that was what.
But because he was taught to, Willy put on a surprised face, (because, after all, he really was), and let his curiosity overtake him (because, after all, he didn¡¦t know any better).
¡§What is it, what is it?!¡¨ He said, jumping up and down.
The box was opened, and inside, there lay a tiny reptile, green, beady-eyed, and looked about ready to urinate in the metallic box Kyle had kept him in.
More than what he expected! ¡§Wow...where did you get it?¡¨
Hearing the commotion and sighting the box, the rest of the children who had been invited to the party, came crowding around, some of them on the verge of poking the poor thing, some of them too frightened to move, and some of them, just not interested, too excited at the prospect of spending the night in a house as big as the Riker¡¦s.
¡§Don¡¦t touch, children,¡¨ Turning his head back to his wife, ¡§Betty, can you get me the cage?¡¨
With a nod and final look at the set table, Betty C. Riker vanished into a domain she often shared with her now seven year-old son, and reappeared just as another portion of the children decided to join in on the poking fun.
