Chapter 4 Part 2Mature

 He seemed hesitant at first when he woke up, looking around at the strange room with his large, golden eyes. His eyes then spotted me. He jolted from the bed, and hid at the corner. He looked like an animal about to be whipped. He put the sheet over his head and crumpled up to the bed head.

“Aiden, please, don’t act like I’m invisible.” I appealed, as I tried to remove the bed sheet from over his head, but he clutched on tightly to it. “Aiden, I’m so sorry…I was upset Aiden, that’s why I didn’t come. It was a very sad day for me today. I didn’t mean to yell at you Aiden, honest.”

“It’s…its ok.” He mused. “It is…its ok…” I could barely hear him whisper. “Only a mother can love a son like that…Don’t play with that boy…” I gulped; I hadn’t dealt with this before. He seemed to be…mimicking voices of woman, “looser looser…no one likes you because you’re creepygo away creep, stay away…eww, you’ll infect us” It was like my voice had been ripped out of my throat. He was imitating people…muttering to himself. Was he going mad?! What was I supposed to do? What was I supposed to even say to him?

“Aiden…” I reached out to pull of the sheet, “Aiden, what are you saying my boy?” He didn’t resist as I pulled the cover from his face. He had silenced himself. His head was buried in his knees.

“That's what they all used to say...so...It’s ok…It’s ok if you don’t like me …it really, really is.” I could barely hear him. “They said it before…that only my mother can love a son like me…that I’m mad…Ill infect their children…I am weird, creepy…unlovable. So…it’s ok….they said…I killed them…it was my fault, because I…I’m cursed...I killed my family.”

I couldn’t let him go on like this.

“That’s not true Aiden, not one bit.” I wrapped my arm around his shoulder. I felt him cringe a bit under my touch, but his muscles slowly loosened. “Those people…who said those things are wrong. I like you very much Aiden, I think you are wonderful, really…” He was shaking.

“No…no you don’t. You don’t like spending time with me; you just want to ‘finish this off’…” It was so strange to hear him imitate me. “Liar…” He whispered.

“Aiden, no, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. Todays a very sad day for me, so…I was upset, see. Not at you Aiden, not at all at you. I didn’t mean a word of it, I promise you.”

“Today…was sad for you?” He asked. He lifted his head slightly. His eyes were red and the streaks of tears were obvious.

“Yes…it was.” I answered.

“It was…for me too.” He murmured.

“Why don’t you tell me about it?” I asked, pulling him closer ill his head rested on my chest.

“My mother, and father and brother died…” he said, clutching onto my shirt, with his shaking hand. “There was a funeral, and no one wanted to keep me, because…they said I was born sick…with an illness in my brain. So they put me with lots of doctors…and no one played with me, because I am creepy…and weird and sick, and unlovable.”              

I held him closer to me. “I hated the doctors, they all put injections in me, and made me take medicines, and strapped me to a bed, and did strange tests. I hated them. I hated the doctors and the children and their mothers…but that wasn’t right. It was…OK if they didn’t like me, they wanted to be safe, because…I'm not right...I'm infected...”

“Stop.” I couldn’t listen to this anymore. How can the world be so cruel to a child? How can they hurt a child to such an extent that they make him an outcaste because he is born different? How is it that the world can create bombs powerful enough to destroy the planet, but are still ignorant to the emotions in the human heart? How? It made no sense whatsoever. I wasn't going to let him believe all this stupid and ignorent beliefs of a couple of stupid and ignorent people. 

“Aiden, forget what they said. You’re wonderful. You’re beautifully bizarre… Those people were oblivios...blind to your beauty. They couldn’t appreciate your brilliant colours, They couldn't see the thousands of rainbow-like shades all merging into a beautiful palet of colour. But I…I can see it. A lovely little boy, slightly strange, and slightly quirky, but it all just adds to his charm, strange and exquisite…like a butterfly.
 

“I’m…like a butterfly?” He asked.

“Yes…you are.” I answered, as I wrapped my arms around him as he wet my shirt in his tears. I wouldn’t stop him from crying. Let him cry. These were tears that needed to be released. They needed to fall, like winter leaves, to allow the flowers to bloom.

The End

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