All Children Are Beautiful

There he was, in the distance, lying on the charcoal ground surrounded by charcoal walls. There was dark mist all around him; it was making his insides twist and shriek. Beautifully haunting music played softly and danced into the boy’s ears. He gasped, taking in all the agony. He felt as though his chest was going to explode out towards the world, but also cave in towards his soul.

This boy was curled into the smallest morsel of flesh he could become. He didn’t want the universe to see him, didn’t want anything to help him. There was no time left before his illness got to him.

A sudden ‘SWOOSH’ came from the air behind him. After a few silent seconds, soft and warm hands scooped him up. The boy looked at the creature and saw a face he recognized, yet he didn’t want to name it. It was much too painful. The face placed him on his feet. The pain in his chest was lifted, as if it were never there.

The creature and the boy parted in opposite directions.

The boy headed in the direction to the source of the dark mist, curious as to what it was. When he entered the body of the mist, his body transformed. It looked like as if it were his own, but was not. His body was painted black and white, bones upon bones of paint; his hair was black and his eyes a Celeste Pallido blue.

The boy walked forward, hoping to shed off the paint and become himself once again. The makeup did nothing but settle deeper into his skin, tattooing itself onto his body without permission. He walked farther and farther out, wondering if the darkness would ever end. It seemed he walked for hours, maybe days, before he saw the small light at the end the end of the darkness.

As he passed through the light, the boy could feel heat, a nice warmth; a comfort. It was sunlight. He had forgotten what it felt like. The boy looked around him; he was in the world of humans. Cars lined the street; trees dotted sidewalks, and a house he knew up ahead. The boy looked up, taking in all the warmth that he so dearly missed without realizing.

Colourful tears started to stream down his face. His feet moved him into the house, navigated him to the person he wanted to see.

There was a boy standing over a bathroom sink, newly made cuts on his arms. The bone boy wrapped his arms around the live one, wanting to make him feel his body. This was the boy he loved; this was the boy he wanted to love him. The living boy started to cry, black tears stained his face grey.