Come for me

Looking up at the stars, with his eyes sunk into his palms, little Peter was traveling through space.

Points of light swarmed over dark spots. An ocean of brown and yellow flashes. Blurred colors swirled around nebula-like sails. Striated waves were born then disappeared. Everything was moving in this eye space.

The shadow of the lamppost reached his bench. Peter now had to go home to avoid any problems. He tossed his old empty bag as high as he could to possibly touch a cloud or even a star. Like an acrobat spinning his hoop, he waited for the return, his arm outstretched. A thong slapped his face and the seam scratched him a bit. It was nothing.

His steps wandered through the streets of the neighborhood. He was feeling pulled back. He forced every stride. He had, however, straightforwardly, like every day, to stop by the grocer.

"Hello Mr. Wildburry, do you have the order for my step ... my father, please?

- Hello Peter, are you okay?

- Yes, I had to defend myself from some thugs and there is one he attacked me by surprise with a stick!

- A stick? A wood stick?

- Laser stick! But it's okay, I was nothing. They are already gone. They were afraid of me.

- You are very brave my little boy. Is it ok at home? 

Peter nodded.

- Well, let me know if you need anything. Open your bag, it's quite heavy. The payment can wait. Please tell your mom not to worry. You should go home quickly.

- Thanks, Mr. Wildburry. I'm fast. I’m the fastest!" running already.

The bounces of his bag hit his lower back. The little one stopped out of sight of the grocer. He removed the straps to relieve the weight. He heard exploding glass as the bag crashed to the ground. Peter froze. He didn't dare turn around. He wished from all his heart to disappear, kidnapped by an Alien. He turned around so slowly that he could ask God a hundred times that nothing happened, and everything would come back to normal like before. Before even before, when it was still good at home.

It was broken. He drowned his sleeve in children's tears as he was now sure he was going to have a bad time at home.

He screamed out of fear, shouting invented words to the stars. He hoped that luckily these grunts could be understood by other distant civilizations.

His bag was wet. The wear and dirt on the fabric masked the wine color a bit. But it was the only one he had. He had to clean it.

The zipper was stuck. He strained on both sides so hard his arm ached. His teeth and temples clenched. He growled in frustration. He had to hurry.

He huffed and resumed more delicately wedging the sides of the zipper between his fingers successfully. One was broken. He was going to have a really bad time at home.

Peter was thinking to say a bottle was missing, it wasn't him and he would collect it later. Mr. Wildburry would be fine with giving him another one if he worked for him a bit. He was only five but he could do a lot of stuff! Otherwise, he would find one in a trash can, or he would steal one?

A bit more confident Peter took out the pieces of glass one by one, from the largest to the smallest. A sharp end had hidden between two bottles and cut the edge of his hand as he scraped off the last debris. Reflexively, he brought his hand to his chest to wipe it off. He wasn't in pain. It was nothing.

Peter dried his tears and set off on the road gaze up. He still hadn't figured out how to talk to aliens. One day, luckily, he was sure his complaint would be heard trying all kinds of sounds. There had to be people behind the stars to get the words in his head. He and his mom would be taken to a futuristic, peaceful world to play. It would be nice and over.

Approaching his destination, the streets tightened on his heart. A bottle was missing and his mother was still working. He was going to have a bad time at home.

At the threshold, his heartbeat quickened. In his mind, invented words, full of emotion, rolled at the speed of light seeking to pierce the universal distances. It was an inner scream begging for help before stepping inside. He didn't want to go home.

When he heard a growl inside, he pushed open the door in fear and forced a smile:

"I ‘m home! I brought your bottles! I put them here and I go to my room. I have work!"

The bald man was slumped in his chair, an empty bottle and glass in front of him. His glassy gaze slid slowly towards the child. An evil grin underscored the anger in his eyes:

" Where were you brat? I've been waiting for you. And where is your good-for-nothing mother?

- I was at school. And mum, she works. 

- Your mother doesn't know how to make money. We have nothing here. I take care of you and this is how I am thanked?

- Can I, please, go to my room?

The man rose to the sack on the floor as Peter kept his distance walking across the room.

- Stay there!

Peter felt his heart stop. He couldn't move. He was so close to his bedroom but if he didn't listen he would be having a dramatic time.

- Why are there only five bottles? he stammered.

- I dunno. It's not my fault. Mr. Wildburry told me to come back later. I go if you want!

- You stay there I just told you. The bottles are sweaty. They stick. What the hell did you do? Is it blood? Did you break a bottle? My bottle!" As Peter denied, the man saw a wiped mark of blood on the sweater.

Peter looked at his chest following the old man’s gaze. He understood. He shivered more and more, the tears flowed out. He couldn't contain himself, his knees let go and he wet his pants.

"I'm gonna teach you how to break my bottles and lie to me, you nonsense spouting kid! You're gonna cry for a good reason," yelled the abusive guy.

The man rushed at Peter who was praying with all his might in unknown languages for someone. “Please, come for me”.

He sunk his eyes into his palms to travel into space and look up at the stars.