The Boy and the Magic Pill

     He stood there alone, sobbing, afraid. He was mute, shut up by the jet-set. Deemed ugly by them. The rain beat hard on him, the purple on his face, blood on his arms. Running away from life, running away from a white flash to a black eternity. Running from that hell inside to hope outdoors, under a willow tree. All afraid, alone, shaky hands. The silver of the dagger shone brighter than the moon’s glow. But then he saw the moon glowing brighter, a boat passing through the sky. Waves of change guiding the boat towards the north star, towards hope, towards a candle, flickering but alive. He was smiling, he ran off dropping the dagger, coming home.

      The next day was similar, tears and purple adorned his face. But instead of running to the willow he stopped by the mart to pick up a magic pill to reach the streets of Neverland, to smile once. He reached the long branches of the tree. He sat there sobbing until the moon came up and then he looked up. The moon, his boat was sailing but in the other direction, away from the north star, those waves weren’t taking him to hope, but to misery. He looked up one last time to the star but it was lost from his eyes, the flickering candle had blown away. Sobbing he opened the canister, took out the Magic Pill and ingested it, hoping to walk the streets of Neverland, to keep the smile forever on his face. 


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