The Young Boy | Chinmayee Ramaswamy

As the night falls, the silent voices begin to linger. The window on the left-side back corner rattled, a cold breeze flowed through the classroom. Startled awake, a young boy of 8 crept out into the hallway, unsure of his surroundings. Unable to remember anything except the language he spoke, he shook with fear. A weak, strained voice called out, “...Mama...?” though it sounded like the croak of an American toad. Tears formed in his eyes, though even he didn’t understand what he yearned for. Mama? Who’s that? Where am I? What am I? Why am I here? A flurry of thoughts filled his head as the child paced through the halls. He called out for someone, anyone, yet all he was met with were hallways with no end in sight. His pace, now a quick jog, increased, along with his desperation and anguish. I want to get out. I want to get out. I want to get out. I want to get out. With a single sentence in mind, he ran, mindlessly screaming for help. Suddenly, a voice reached out, “Are you lost... my child?” Chills went down the boy’s spine, he spun around, dead in his tracks, trying to pinpoint where he heard this voice from. “Who’s there?!” “Hush my dear... run... until you cannot go on... you will find... the truth then...” The boy didn’t even think twice. Run. Run. Run. His mind was fixated on this one, singular goal. Run. He didn’t know where, nor why, but it didn’t matter. He just knew he had to run. After seemingly running for an eternity, the boy collapsed, vomit building up in his throat. The world spun as his body fell to the ground, his head soon following. Sweat dripped onto the floor, his heart beat out of his chest, and his mind was barely conscious. With one last futile attempt to continue, he rose, but quickly fell onto his back as the world warped around him. He felt the sensation of falling... and falling... and falling... until he collided with the ground, his body ricocheting off the concrete. His mind, nearly unconscious, and his eyes, fluttering, desperately trying to stay open. He felt a pool of blood surrounding him, and with one final, futile attempt at staying conscious, he whispered, “Ah... I remember...” And succumbed to the depths of his consciousness. As the night falls, the silent voices begin to linger. A young boy of 8 joins them, with a sad smile on his face, and the knowledge of the truth.