Having balled his hand into a tight unprying fist around the object of his desire, he didn’t dare dream of his left arm ever loosened. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t. He was unable to imagine the freedom of using both arms– to hug, to carry, to climb. He used to love swimming but now the splashing water was echoing and distant.
As his Father rang the dinner bell, he looked back at the cottage, its lights in the windows growing brighter as the sky’s blue was darkening. Thick and full smoke billowed out the chimney. He could smell the soup cooking, potato and meat in glistening broth.
But his grip was bolted shut around the unmovable thing, whose sweetness was delicious and instant. Though it rotted the soul, he achingly longed for just one more taste.
The bell rang for the second time and there would be no more reminders after that. Even the darkest blue was turning black and stars would soon appear. He wrestled and wrestled but knew that ultimately he could not have both.
He thought of the soup and his stomach grumbled. Then he thought of the sweetness and his tongue curled. He could not have both. His left hand was crumpled into a debilitating stone and he wanted to scream. He would have cut it off if a knife was near.
As he nearly relented to remain holding on forever and getting nothing rather than having to choose, he saw his Father standing at the porch, waiting for him. Barely lit by the stars, his Father was waiting.
“My son!” his Father called out. “Your soup is getting cold.”
Perhaps because the young man had been clutching for so long that he had forgotten the flexing muscles in his hand, he was surprised to suddenly feel his pinky finger give.
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qianlikes said:
a banana right?! and he has a rare disease where he’s allergic to sugar…
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johnjun said:
What was the monkey holding in his hand?! I want to know!
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johnjun liked this
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annemarchgrowsinqueens said:
what was in his hand??!!
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ahnmin posted this
