Porthole

He's just a boy

He's just a boy, breast feeding, crying, sleeping, pooping.

I was one once as well and I'm slowly getting back into that cycle.

Except for breast-feeding. My mother at 97 is too old.

And not going home. I found that out today when my sister called. After 25 years in the same apartment she's been persuaded to give it up and live in assisted living... Now I feel even older.

But back to the boy.

He's just a boy and will be for many years. Mother, father, brother ... maybe even other siblings. We'll never know for sure. They mostly provide the wallpaper behind the story, the part that's always ignored.

But he won't be.

He'll rage when he's 12 ... just like many boys. Disappear in his 20s then reappear to convince some poor fishermen that there's a better way to fish ... and live.

We know him by many names but he still remains shrouded in uncertain mists and myths.

They say that his birthday is today. But no one knows for sure.

We do know however ... that once he was just a boy.



In other snews: my flash fiction today was inspired by tah2o:

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Moles among us (296)  (18+) Flash fiction under 300 words. Free-write. Inspired by TaH2o. #2208654 by Kåre เลียม Enga

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