LilyPichu
17th July 2005, 10:01 PM
Idols
Youth – ages 0 to 7
1. Of What Began
-
Zack.
He used to love birds, on how they soared cleanly through the sky. With arms outstretched, he marveled at the fact that the wind itself could never be seen, but felt. It was majestic, powerful, beautiful, with freedom’s creatures doing loop-de-loops in the air.
Their wings would never waver, although dipping down occasionally to anew their posture, eyes so determined and fierce; sometimes, it scared the little boy.
Father was a pilot. Perhaps this was the main reason Zack held great admiration. To him, his father was invincible. He could control one of those ‘airplanes,’ flying alongside with the birds, as if he was a part of them. It was truly miraculous.
But then again, he had decided, miracles did not last very long.
“I was fired.”
Still, the gruff voice was imprinted in his mind as soon as he picked up the words.
Fire meant light, a flickering orange substance he had fun creating shadows with. To what extent did this term ‘fire’ mean?
“It’s okay,” Mother had spoken gently, rhythmically patting him on the back. “You’ll find another job. They’re not hard to obtain these days.” Despite her kindness, even Zack could tell the evident sign of hesitation lingering in her voice, or more importantly, fear. It controlled her movements, mangling it into an irregular beat.
“Besides,” she whispered softly, ever so discreetly, “...he’s alive.”
The words made Zack’s head spin. Were they talking about him? The way she said it, the coolness brushing alongside her voice, it was uncanny of her.
He watched Father’s posture droop down, sitting on a kitchen table’s seat, hands clutching his head with frustration. This, Zack understood. He felt sympathy. This ‘firing,’ or whatever it might be, it must have made a harsh impact. Climbing up on an adjacent seat, he automatically started to pat him.
“It’s okay,” he imitated Mother, trying his best to comfort him. “Fire turns to ash anyway.”
Time seemed to stop, and the boy was frightened. Had he said something?
His father merely sat there, immobilized. And did something Zack never even thought of at that time until much later.
He cried.
Youth – ages 0 to 7
1. Of What Began
-
Zack.
He used to love birds, on how they soared cleanly through the sky. With arms outstretched, he marveled at the fact that the wind itself could never be seen, but felt. It was majestic, powerful, beautiful, with freedom’s creatures doing loop-de-loops in the air.
Their wings would never waver, although dipping down occasionally to anew their posture, eyes so determined and fierce; sometimes, it scared the little boy.
Father was a pilot. Perhaps this was the main reason Zack held great admiration. To him, his father was invincible. He could control one of those ‘airplanes,’ flying alongside with the birds, as if he was a part of them. It was truly miraculous.
But then again, he had decided, miracles did not last very long.
“I was fired.”
Still, the gruff voice was imprinted in his mind as soon as he picked up the words.
Fire meant light, a flickering orange substance he had fun creating shadows with. To what extent did this term ‘fire’ mean?
“It’s okay,” Mother had spoken gently, rhythmically patting him on the back. “You’ll find another job. They’re not hard to obtain these days.” Despite her kindness, even Zack could tell the evident sign of hesitation lingering in her voice, or more importantly, fear. It controlled her movements, mangling it into an irregular beat.
“Besides,” she whispered softly, ever so discreetly, “...he’s alive.”
The words made Zack’s head spin. Were they talking about him? The way she said it, the coolness brushing alongside her voice, it was uncanny of her.
He watched Father’s posture droop down, sitting on a kitchen table’s seat, hands clutching his head with frustration. This, Zack understood. He felt sympathy. This ‘firing,’ or whatever it might be, it must have made a harsh impact. Climbing up on an adjacent seat, he automatically started to pat him.
“It’s okay,” he imitated Mother, trying his best to comfort him. “Fire turns to ash anyway.”
Time seemed to stop, and the boy was frightened. Had he said something?
His father merely sat there, immobilized. And did something Zack never even thought of at that time until much later.
He cried.