Fear

Fear is a little boy. He is trembling, scared, and incredibly cold. I cannot help but notice that his hair is matted as he is sitting on my couch recounting his tales. 

 

He asks if I made the cocoa with water because I knew he liked it, and he asks what has happened to my face. Curious as ever, like most little boys are.

 

We talk for a while. He catches me up on his life and I listen.. We have all the time in the world. He asks if I would like to play house, and I agree easily.

 

Oh how long it’s been since I’ve knelt on this rough carpeted floor. I am a cat in this game, and he is my brother, and it has been so long. 

 

When he falls on his bruise, he starts to cry. I have no clue where it’s from, but I wish I did. We hug and he is so cold, and his snot is soaking through my shirt and-

 

It’s okay. We have all the time in the world.

 

Conversation is slower now, and much more cautious.

 

He tells me that he does not know what death is like, and that he is afraid. The snow outside is illuminated by the orange street lamps, it is long past his bedtime.

 

He falls asleep on the couch eventually, and I get up to gently tuck him in with a blanket and stuffed animal. 

 

“This is what death is like,” I whisper while I use my hands to comb through the knots in his hair. “I know you're scared, and so am I. We have all the time in the world.”

 

“Goodnight.”