He ripped up his story and threw it to the birds. He had already got everything he could have wanted, he didn’t need eyes to tell him it was a good story. He was just happy to play. He knew it was all just play. The world went on, trying to get her attention, she told it to be quiet, she was too busy documenting the past to see the present. But Riley smiled, loving her anyway.
Beside her sat a little boy.
“Ayelen! Ayelen!” he would shout with excitement.
She met his excitement with harsh stares.
“I am trying to work. I am working. Stop bothering me!”
The boy would hear the growls of his beloved but his childish mind would soon forget. He lived in the moment and when a lady bug would come along, he wanted to share his excitement through the brown eyes of Ayelen.
“Ayelen, look what I found!” he says.
Ayelen slapped it out of his hand.
“I don’t care about no stupid lady bug Riley! I told you, I need to write!”
“I'm sorry” He whimpered.
The world went on around her as she wrote about it. Riley wondered how she had anything to write, when she spends her whole time with her head focused on the page.
The mountains were silent and the night brought the excitement of those willing to live in it. The music played softly but not only were Ayelens’ eyes focused, her ears were too, so she did not hear the music.
Riley didn’t know what to do, he felt lonely and bored, but didn’t want to upset someone he idolised. So he copied her, and tried to write too.
‘but what to write about?’ he thought.
He could write about the lady bug. He could write about the music. He could write about the golden dog that circled them, not looking for trouble but always finding it.
He wrote this:
There once was a lady named Ayelen,
she was pretty as the clouds that pass by,
as smart as a hungry fox,
as lovely as the warm sun falling behind the mountains,
but she was always too busy,
busy busy busy,
always busy,
I need to do this, she would shout at me,
I need to do this! she would repeat,
then one day the boy decided to make his own fun.
Running up the mountains.
Ayelen was too busy to notice he was gone but enjoyed the silence that surrounded her.
The boy, alone and intrigued, met a mountain he couldn’t climb. Falling backward
and hitting his head.
The police tapped on the shoulder of the busy Ayelen,
“Mam, I'm sorry to tell you this, but your little boy is dead”
She wept until the valleys of her tears were empty. She wept tears she no longer had.
Once the flowers from the funeral had died she threw them out. The world moved on but her heart stayed in the past. She had all the time in the world to write now, but she was too sad. She thought of all the times she spent with the boy, without being with him. She wished for him back but had nothing but writing. The stupid writing.
the end.
“What are you doing Riley?” Asked Ayelen,
“I'm writing like you”
“What are you writing?”
“Nothing”
He ripped up his story and threw it to the birds. He had already got everything he could have wanted, he didn’t need eyes to tell him it was a good story. He was just happy to play. He knew it was all just play. The world went on, trying to get her attention, she told it to be quiet, she was too busy documenting the past to see the present. But Riley smiled, loving her anyway.
