The Lost Little Lad

Trigger warning: contains themes of abuse, bullying, suicide, and emotional distress.

The boy slept under the snow-covered trees. Two of the oaks stretched, curving their roots and branches, creating a home for the young lad - a resting place. Dreamless was his sleep; peaceful was his slumber.

His breath puffed in silent, intermittent beats. No wind blew, no whistle in the leaves. A rich scent of pine and oak broke through the blanket of white. Sunlight cascaded over all without a source.

The branch hanging over the boy's head, burdened with the weight of collected snow, drooped. The addition of claws and feathers pushed it further. It ducked and sprung back after freeing itself from the collected frost clinging to its every twig.

The boy opened his eyes. Snow crumbled over his vision, falling from his long, messy hair. He shook his head free from the last flakes.

Rising from where he had lain, he stared at the snow-covered forest. Crystallised in a sheer untouched white, the boy's feet crunched a few steps as he sought a sign of something familiar.

A flap of wings echoed overhead in the silence of the world. The boy turned to the branch.

“Where am I?” the boy asked.

The yellow-brown owl rotated its head like the hands of a clock and blinked. “The beginning,” it spoke. Glasses rested on those dark eyes. “Do you not hear it?”

“I don’t hear anything,” the boy answered.

The owl flapped. “The snow of inception will guide you.” The creature departed its perch and flew away.

The boy scrambled after the bird, but one blink and it had vanished.

A cracking of twigs and branches ripped the peace. Where the boy once slept rested a tiny tree. A baby tree grown from the soil. It took only a second. Now the surrounding oaks caressed and protected it.

The boy's heart stung. The baby trunk had replaced him, and the forest was soon to forget he was ever here.

When his feet dug into the snow, no footprints trailed behind him. Every step wiped away; every step left nothing.

The forest ended with the boy's exit, as did its existence. Red coloured grass curved from his feet in the open field. With each step, the colour changed. Orange, yellow, green. The owl floated down and took to the ground. The boy stopped.

“Stick to the green.” The owl flapped its wings. “Repetition only comes when you've reached the end.”

“Why am I here?” asked the boy.

“The reason will not find you. You must find it.” The owl departed once more, taking to a cloudless, sunless sky. The vast blue firmament was so far away, with little black lines swimming from no beginning to no end.

The boy stayed with the green grass, curving to follow the gradual bend. At each colour's end were crayons the size of his hands; thick and stubby. There were so many, but only the green crayons laid broken. The rest of the colours pointed their tips at the remains of the green, surrounding it as far as they could go without getting close.

The landscape of rainbow grass blinked out of existence. A gate with a peak of a mountain blocked the boy's path. The iron burnt his fingers with a biting cold. The boy pulled back, holding his numbing hand. The gate creaked to stay standing. Even the black lines - now ovals - in the sky stopped before its presence, collecting in a pool of squirming, lost silhouettes.

The owl appeared once more. A flap and a glide, and he perched on the boy's head.

“How do I get out of here?” asked the boy.

“Some things are tough when alone,” said the owl. “But - no matter how bleak it may feel - know you are never alone.”

Wings flapped and the gust blew the boy’s hair. He didn’t watch the owl leave this time.

A weak whimper rose like a crying blade of grass. Through the gate, a tiny fluffy friend with short pointed ears hobbled towards the boy. Three legs extended from the brown fur and kept it upright as it sniffed the iron.

“Hello,” said the boy. “Are you okay?”

The dog nodded. “It seems you are in more pain than I. Won’t you let me help you?”

The boy nodded. The dog limped to the latch holding the gate to the ground. With teeth aplenty, it lifted and pulled.

An almighty scratching of iron roared. The boy covered his ears. The dog bristled at the sound as it tried to continue.

The boy knelt and cupped his hands atop the dog's head. “Does that help?” he said.

“Thank you.” The dog pulled once more, silent against the screech of metal.

When a gap opened, the boy slipped through. He lifted the dog and held it against his chest.

“Thank you,” said the boy. “That was amazing.”

“There is great reward in helping each other.” The dog licked the boy’s cheek. “A regret I wish I had known sooner.”

With the dog still huddled in his arms against his chest, the boy set off. The gate was no more than a memory as the world transformed from one page to the next. The boy didn't see how the great block of a castle appeared, nor how the city of grey stone formed around him. Voices came from across the drawbridge leading to a chasm of an entrance, murmurs that made the boy quiver, though he couldn't make out any words.

“I don’t want to go in there,” he said.

From the boy's side shuffled something grey and furry. Its four legs were taller than the dog’s, and its face was lean and fierce. Conical teeth poked out when its mouth parted. “This way,” said the wolf, gesturing with its head. It crossed the bridge with no concern.

The boy stepped back, holding the dog tight.

“Though he may be intimidating,” said the dog, “there is so much more going on under that roughness of his.”

The wolf moved ahead into the abyss of a door without waiting. The owl appeared once more from the sky. The blue seemed closer now; rippling and dark.

The owl perched on the chain running along the side of the bridge. “There is nothing wrong with fear,” it said. “You can’t always stop it. Let it know you, but don’t let it take you.”

“Can you come with me, too?” said the boy. “Please?”

“I am already with you.” The owl flapped a beat with its wings. “Do not look at the sky again.”

The owl flapped louder than before and departed. The boy kept his head down and stayed where he was.

“Focus on what you enjoy,” said the dog. “Then you’ll have something to make you happy and the bad things will have a sweeter memory to them.”

Hesitant, the boy nodded and crossed the oak bridge.

As he stepped across each log, the voices inside the castle grew in number and volume. The boy trembled and stopped.

“I don’t think I can do it,” he said.

The dog lapped the boy’s cheek. “I’ll share in your fear. We’ll do it together. That way, you won’t feel so heavy.”

The boy still shook, but he nodded and stepped inside the castle, entering the darkness.

A sludgy black illuminated the hall. The walls were thick and encasing. Etched into the stone were white question marks: big, small, round, or blocky. Everywhere, they stuck out and prodded with palpable disgust. Staining the walls, the floor, the ceiling. The boy’s rapid breathing bounced around and hit his ears. The question marks began to melt and bleed a horrible milky white.

“Keep moving,” said the owl from somewhere unseen, his voice far but ringing.

The boy obeyed. Wobbly legs balanced his every step, but they moved him. The glowing darkness gave him a straight path. Ahead, the grey fur of the wolf shimmered. It was only when the voices from above spoke, did the boy start moving fast.

“He’s nine years old. He shouldn’t be crying anymore.”

“I don’t want to,” said the boy. He hugged the dog tightly. “I never want to.”

“Get a haircut. You look like a girl.”

“But I like my hair,” said the boy. He closed his eyes. “I want to keep it long.”

“You really talk too much. Shut up for once.”

“I’m sorry. I just want to be friends,” the boy cried. And he ran.

“I have that weird child in my class again. His parents must be embarrassed with that one."

“I’m sorry.”

“Can you not kick a ball? You really are a girl. An ugly one.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want to sit next to him. He’s weird.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t cry in front of your sister. I don’t want her to grow up weak, too.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Just leave!”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry.”

The gentle tap of a paw caressed his cheek. The boy opened his eyes with no memory of ever closing them. He wiped his face clean. The castle walls no longer trapped the two of them. The voices had stopped. Light glistened over the hill of verdant grass. Stretched to the horizon were fields of flowers: marigold, roses, lilies, and so many more; the plethora of colours gave birth to several new breeds of rainbow.

The sole tree grew from atop the hill, reaching no higher than the boy. Its branches were bare, and its colour had faded. The owl sat atop the most outstretched branch, resting near the boy's shoulder.

“You made it here,” said the owl. “That is strength.”

“But it hurt,” said the boy. “I tried, but it hurt so much.”

“Their words can cut deeper than blades, and further still. They know not how to use them wisely. But you can adapt to them wisely.”

“Or you can ssssstop their words." The slither of scales wound around the tree, its body wrapped tight over the trunk and branches, consuming every bit of oak with the violet gems for skin. "It's easssssy," said the snake. “Ssssso easssssy.”

“How do I stop them?” asked the boy.

“No, lad!” The owl’s wings grew.

“Stop!” cried the dog as it struggled against his chest.

“Please, tell me,” the boy begged.

The snake’s tongue bent and twisted with its smile. “All you have to do isssss look up.”

The boy’s eyes moved first. Then his head. The sky twinkled above him. Right above him. Rippling in waves, rolling in tides. The blue was dark and squirming with fish and foam.

The boy lost his sense of weight. He was rising. Rising, rising, rising. Falling. Falling fast. All weight returned, and he plummeted.

The dog was no longer in his arms, the owl was no longer in sight. There was no one. Nothing but him and the water.

He splashed. He struggled. He sunk.

Bubbles rose as he descended into a watery prison. The boy cried and lost his tears in the sea. He screamed for help, but no sound would leave him. Not that anyone would listen. Not that anyone would want to listen.

His body grew numb, too numb, so numb he didn't feel the bite around his wrist and the pull of his arm. The boy closed his eyes as everything left him.

Once upon a time, there was a lost little lad born under snow. He ended in water. But not today. Not today.

Shells made up a rough pillow for the boy’s head. Colourful and smooth shells. Sand acted as his bed. The fresh smell of the beach rejuvenated him. When light returned to his heart, and air filled his body, he opened his eyes.

The owl stood to his right, the dog to his left, and the wolf above – its fur dark, sodden, and dripping.

“You helped me?” asked the boy.

“You called for help,” said the wolf.

“But no one could hear me.”

“Someone will always hear you.” The wolf’s wet nose rested on the boy’s forehead. “And someone will always come when you need them most.”

“Wise words,” said the owl, his wings shielding the boy from the sun. “You heard all those voices, now it’s time to listen to ours.”

“We’re here for you,” said the dog. “Do not forget the hearts of those closest.”

“You will never be alone,” said the wolf. “I promise.”

The boy burst into tears. They poured and flowed. He cried through his smile, and he cried when trying to hug his three friends.