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Prose
I beat the underbrush to stir up a small commotion. I want him to know something’s coming and I want him to run. To weaken and to be mine when I find him. Tonight he gives his position away early. I try not to overplay my hand so I stick with the plan. The sound of a twig snapping reveals I am heading the wrong direction. Or there is more than one. I take the risk and fire my rifle above my head. Yes, there are two. They run- fast, much faster than I can keep up with but I know something they don’t. We are on a peninsula and they are heading towards the wrong end. They remain so predictably forgetful of their surroundings. Reaching the shoreline, I finally lay eyes on them in the moonlight. They are still not willing to surrender to me but the small one, Linus, is wavering. He glances at his big brother Arthur, trying to fuel what little courage he has but Arthur remains stoic. I call to Linus and speak softly to him. I remind him that everything will be okay. He hesitates once more before shuffling towards me, his feet dragging a bit, but otherwise mine. I take him and hold him again and whisper to him that I won’t hurt him tonight. He sits on a rock next to me and waits to see how events will unfold. Arthur is large, so much larger than he once was. When the two of us were very young we had been the best of friends. We used to play together for hours. I had other friends, of course. Milton and Theodore in particular. And yes, I played with little Linus too. But they weren’t like Arthur. Arthur was my best friend. I went everywhere with him and everything we did was so fun and so spirited. We were nearly inseparable. But as we grew older, he seemed to change. He became more serious, darker, graver and more important at all times. He would still occasionally play but the games were different, more complex. Though I in no way attempt to defend my actions, I suppose it really was inevitable that I should become so obsessed. I never intended for things to go as far as they did, but it happened just the same. I missed Arthur too much- I missed my friend and I demanded him back. I forced myself upon him whenever possible. He became to me the source of entertainment and information. I came to live vicariously through him. Each time he smiled I had a good day. If he so much as stubbed his toe, I would be in a foul mood for a week. I made him play new games that I invented myself even though he didn’t like them. Even though he was obviously in pain. On two different occasions in particular I caught him playing with someone else. I don’t know why I should have been so jealous; the others were his friends too. But I began to fear that he would not be my friend forever. I was so afraid that he would leave me even though we had always been such great pals. So I did the only thing that seemed logical: I locked Arthur up so I could have him always. I see now that it was at this time that he ceased to be a verb and simply became a noun. You see, I wanted so badly to know everything there is to know about him. I questioned him relentlessly and when his answers no longer satisfied me I took a more |
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