Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Thirteen

Somewhere in time, same as always, a boy walked his tiny cell keeping his sanity in check. Sleep, void of any dreams, and blankly stare at the door. 'Today father will see me.' the boy thought and weather it was true or not he would praise himself for being right because he never knew how many days past. When his father walked in it was a new day. He brought with him light, air, new smells, food and most importantly himself. He would hug him and tell him stories about warriors that never died, beautiful flying people, genius forgers, trickster forgers, free people and the scariest he told when the boy would whine for him to stay. The Mortals. The one he told with most sadness was of a Mortal woman and an Immortal boy. The boy offered her everything in the world including immortality, but she refused it all stating. If I stay as, I am or join you in forever I will lose everything I love. Become like me she begged. The Immortal boy became a Mortal man and the Mortal woman killed him. The boy did not know why this story scared him the most. Maybe it was because he understood the Immortal boy, and thus he too would die.

What story will he get today he wondered. Would he get one? What would he eat today? He loved buttered toast overloaded with strawberry Jam. The butter made the toast sweet and tart jam balanced it out the finally the crunch. The boy has always been simple to please: toast, his mother washing his hair, following his father around. Following his father around. Following his father around? When did he follow his father around? Those thoughts hurt. He shook his head and erased them. Today father is coming, maybe even Alex. He dare not ask about Alex, but may-

The door opened!

“Father!” the boy stumbled to the door. His dry skin cracking and flaking as his mouth struggle to make a facial expression it wasn’t used to in a while. He stood at the entrance of the door watching light sneaked in through the small opening but nothing and no one else. After a few moments the boy sat down. He’s taking a moment to walk in, the boy thought. ‘I’ll just sit here and wait.’ He carefully lowered himself to the ground crossing his ankles.

The light never faded.

Two days later the door opened a little bit more. The boy’s heart jumped. Still no father.

Two more days and more light rushed in when a tray of food stretched inside. The boy crawled up to the plate, looked down lost in the steam dancing them back at the door, waiting. ‘I wonder what story he will tell today?’ the boy asked himself eating the vegetable soup with a side of fruit yogurt.

He awake curled into himself at the door as opposed to his usual corner. His plate had been replaced with breakfast. The door was open a little wider. Could he eat this food? He had never had food this frequently. He sat on his knees in front of the plate. Its inside, it’s for me he rationalized as he ate the meaty omelet with hands and guzzling the two cups of water, always two cups of water. He normally would save one, but the extra food comforted him. The next day the door was opened wide enough he could see the windows and if anyone dared to walk by. That day there was no food or water. He regret not saving the extra cup of water.

Regret didn’t last long. The following day there was a whole small bird, but the plate was not inside it was just barely outside. Father got distracted so he couldn’t bring it all the way inside. The boy thought as he waited for his father to come and hand him the plate. Days passed and his father did not come. The plate was replaced with the same meal, getting further and further out of reach as the door opened wider and wider.

The boy woke up to the door completely opened and Alex propped against the far wall eating a leg from his bird. “Alex?” The boy’s voice cracked. Tears swelled at the corner of eye; he was too dehydrated for them leave home. Was he dreaming? A long-forgotten practice.

Alex was beautiful sitting in the light. He was older than he remembered. The boy will paint this new image of Alex in his mind. The boy watched every twitch, movement, every strand of hair as he tried to capture the most accurate picture. Alex drank all his food and all his water, but he did not mind he would share with Alex. He would give him everything he could give.

Every day after young Alex would bring a tray of food, sit down, and the boy would watch him eat his food, adding a new image to his collection. The boy would try to stay awake, so he didn’t miss the moment he walked up, sometimes he failed and. He would dry cry himself to sleep the next day. He didn’t want to miss a single second of Alex, his best and only friend.

Finally, one day Alex sat down and offered the boy food. The boy wanted to watch him eat this meal, but he was hungry. the boy held out his hand. Alex did not move. the boy crawled closer to the exit, reaching for the food, but Alex was no closer. the boy moved closer, his nose touching the invisible line he cannot cross, and he sat, waiting. "what do you want to eat?" Alex asked, hints of puberty in the depth of voice, heard if you were listening to each wave and pitch. the boy also took note of this change. Alex repeated himself since the boy did not answer. "what do you want to eat?"

the boy mouthed the words toast not wanting to taint the air with his broken voice.

"toast? only toast?"

the boy did not want to be greedy. he bit his lip drawing blood. he looked away then back at Alex, mustering up the courage he did not have to cross the line but enough to mouth butter and jam. Alex laughed letting loose a clear, airy musical that the boy could survive the rest of his life listening to. "Toast, jam and butter?" Alex confirmed. Did he think it was too much? Should he take something away? but the boy sincerely wanted all three. it wasn't complete without all three. the boy decided it was okay to be a little greedy.

"yes." the boy responded firmly.

"I'll be back," and Alex was gone.

NO! for father he could whatever a day was, and it would be his day. for Alex every moment without him he was in waiting for a year. what have he done? did he trade Alex for toast? NO! bring him back. the boy stood up pacing the entrance. pacing turned into stomps. No! he pulled a brick from the wall, effortlessly like it was preplaced for him. NO! he pulled another and slammed it against the wall with very little effect. a small pebble. quarter the size of his jagged nails tumbled away from the rest of the hive. that was all his energy afforded him: a runt.

Alex came running back with a pink fan shaped plate ombre to blue that the boy knew was his. on top was two rectangle pieces of brown toast, a knife, a dollop of jam and another dollop of creamy butter. the boy licked his lips lost in the toast before he saw Alex. "you look happy." Alex noted. "here," Alex sat the plate in front of the old plate, making closer yet still not in reach.