Song of the Birds

It was a beautiful autumn day as I was walking down my home village's main road enclosed by colourful quaint houses. The birds were singing my favourite song, the sun was gently caressing my skin and leaves in all imaginable colors were crunshing beneath my comfy leather boots. I dare say it was the most peaceful scene you could possibly think of. Like if someone had taken one of those awfully idyllic landscape paintings and turned it into a living, breathing scene. Okay, maybe not living. If we're being quite honest for a moment here, it was anything but a lively village. Apart from me and the birds there was not a single living creature to be seen or heard. And if I were to stop and to pause my jolly whistling and to hold my breath for a secound or two it would be as if the village was suddenly nothing more than an extremely realistic painting. And if I were to hold my breath even longer and to stand as still as I could... The birds would gradually fall into a deep, disturbing silence, the sun would get a few nuances darker, almost not noticable but enough to cause a severe uneasiness, and then I would hear footsteps and a young, boyish voice approaching me...

"I'm sorry Mister, can you tell me how to find the church?"

It took all my willpower to not jump into the air and run away like a startled deer but instead to turn around, slowly and calmy like the respectable man I was supposed to represent.

And there he stood, like he had just escaped from my daydreams, as if to mock me personally. But his cheeks were red and lively, his chest was rising and falling in long, steady intervals. And I was just standing there, completely dumbfounded. The boy stared back, not uttering a single word more. Just standing there like innocence itself with his brownish knickerbockers, plaid shirt, suspenders and a slightly skewed cap on his blond strands of hair.

"Excuse me, Mister, is there anything wrong?", the boy finally said. I blinked a few times, rubbed my eyes and continued to stare at this boy who had miraculously appeared behind my back.

The boy was beginning to step from one foot to another, apparently growing a bit impatient.

"I really need to get there as quick as possibly, my mum's already waiting there for me."

I cleared my throat. "Yes, sure, my boy. Just follow this road eastward, turn left and then right and then the third road right again and then..."

My voice was trailing off as I made a quite important observation. I couldn't explain how I could have missed that. The observation was simple but very important: It. Was. Quiet. So quiet that I could hear my own heartbeat which continually grew quicker and stronger. And it was colder, too. The sun had really weakened, just like in my daydream. The whole scenery looked darker now, frightening even. I could feel the hair in the back of my neck slowly rising, one by one, a shiver running through my bones like an icy hand. Screw my dignity, screw my reputation as a respectable, calm man, now I really wanted to run. Run as fast as I could and never look back. "Just you get away from that wicked boy!", the voices in my head screamed. A slow terror, unlike any fear I'd ever experienced before, crept up my spine and filled my brain.

But I couldn't run. I stood fixed as the boy looked deep into my eyes and said, well, nothing. He just stared, and I couldn't speak, I couldn't run and the shadows around me grew larger and larger and larger. And suddenly they came. Came running out of the bushes, out of the houses' doors, dozens and dozens of children. The air was filled with laughter and cries of excitement and childish chatter. They circled me and tore at the underside of my coat, mocking me, all while the boy in front of me silently stood there and stared me into the eyes. Sweat was forming on my forehead as I watched this scene, helplessly.

"It was you, wasn't it?", he finally uttered and his voice was dripping with supressed anger and hate. "H-h-how - How did you find out?", I stuttered. "Easy", said the boy, sounding almost proud of himself. "I can all see it now. I can sit there in the hedges and watch the scene over and over again until I just want to vomit but I can't vomit anymore, you see. Because I'm dead." With the last word his voice turned hoarse and bitter and he spit on my leather boots. Recognition began to fill my mind. It was him. I hadn't seen this boy in ages. Had tried to forget him. Tried to never think of him again, his anguished face, his eyes shining with terror, his voice crying out one last time, crying for his mummy. The rush in my veins, a rush of anger and thrill. My hands squeezing and squeezing until the light in his eyes was suddenly gone, gone forever. The stony earth underneath my knees when that realisation hit me and I sank to the ground. The hot tears streaming from my eyes when I realised that it was over. When I realised what I had done in my rush of anger. The determination with that I had grabbed that lifeless body to carry it to the back of the garden. Scanning the environment with anxious, open eyes and then fetching the shovel from the cellar to finish what I had begun.

"But, but it can't be.", I managed to whisper. "How can you be here? How can you stand here? Oh please, please leave me alone, oh please!" I fell on my knees and begged and begged. But the hate in his eyes only grew stronger and he cried a single word and the children began to rush towards me from all sides and to push and to kick and to tear. And above all stood he, a malicious smile on his, oh so innocent, lips and a single laugh squeezed out of his mouth and filled the morning air and the birds began chirping again as if to sing my final song as I closed my eyes to never open them again.