Myth
A chill creeps down the boy's back, yet the feeling does not discomfort him. In fact his face
changes from a grave one to one bearing a strange, crooked smile. It is cold and the frost
stings. The boy's face is rigid and his lips are cracked, even so he smiles each time the icy
wind rushes over him. He glares at the black emptiness of infinity, trying to ignore the distant
voices getting louder and louder.
Unable to understand the advantages of community, the boy wonders why he is
forced to live with others. He yearns for solitude, away from the voices, away from all the
hard labour. He glances at the barren mountains far away. They tell him to come, to leave and
reach home at last.
He hears the harsh voice of his father, telling him to come inside again. The boy walks
slowly the path to the hut, where he has lived all his life. He sees his mother, with the
reappearing, familiar blue rim around her one eye, and a well of tears inside them. Her cheek
is swollen and bruised, her eyes are turned down. She is making a tool from a leg-bone with
shivering fingers, but does not seem to get it right. He looks at his father, he finds a stern, yet
somehow fearful expression in his eyes.
He feels the cold sensation building up within himself, an icy chill throbbing on his
forehead. Suddenly he notice that he is right in front of his father, in a challenging demeanour.
His father's face, changing from fear to terror, gasps as seizures grips it. His eyes protrudes
and his blue tongue sticks out as his throat is pushed in by an unseen force. The boy's
piercing grey eyes glares at him as he collapses on the floor. The mother runs over to her
husband, crying wildly, yelling at her son. The boy does not seem to notice her. He looks at
the body. His father's face is marked by countless red and blue dots, his veins looking like
great blue worms crawling underneath his skin.
Silently the boy turns and walks outside with slow steps. The solitude awaits.