The elephant boy

this story is based off a dream that I had about an "elephant boy."

            He had so much promise. He was talented at anything he could muster to try, and he was well known around the community. His words could pierce through mountains and his spirit could save souls. That was Johnathon, the elephant boy.

            Johnathon was just a kid when his mother died. Couldn’t have more than eight years old at the time. She had a fatal condition of the heart. Some say it was the pain of her broken marriage, others say it was the pills that controlled her. His parents were model citizens during their early years of marriage. That’s until lust and infidelity tore their family to shreds. His father ran away with his mistress, and his mother stayed behind, but their bond was never the same again. Johnathon turned to writing in order heal some of his wounds, and the sting of rejection that burned in his heart. His mother turned into a shadow of her former glorified self, and it just seemed that both of them were doomed.

            Johnathon was forced to stay with his grandparents. They were loving and filled with the positivity that Johnathon needed. One day while he was sitting his room, Johnathon began the paint his walls. It was almost as if his spirit was possessed. On those walls were the beginning of a mind-blowing form, that would manifest inside of Johnathon’s tiny body. He used his art to portray feelings that his words could not entail, and his words sharpened the truth of what it meant to be afraid, and then those fears would all of a sudden melt away. He was a brave, brave kid, that Johnathon boy. He had so much promise.

            One summer, Johnathon attended the church where his grandparents were members. He had never felt more at home than in that moment. Surrounded by the spirit of hope and promise, he knew what it was that he had to do. He went home, and he wrote books and books of love and fulfillment, more than his brain could possibly posses at that age. He knew things that the wisest man on earth could never know, and that’s what made Johnathon so very special. His kind heart did not allow him to fill himself with ego, nor his head to swell with pridefulness or arrogance. No, Johnathon was just sweet little boy. He had the whole world in the grips of his heart.

            Johnathon was just a kid when his grandparents died. First his grandfather, then later his grandmother. Couldn’t have been more than ten years old at the time, yet the spirits continued to betray him. He wanted so bad to just lay down and die, but the light that was inside him refused. The light that was inside him urged that boy to get on up, and show the world what it means to truly heal. Johnathon was sent on a plane to the desert, where he would stay with his demon riddled father.

            He could sense something was wrong just the minute he arrived, and he cried and told the escorts to set him free. Even though they knew that that Johnathon boy was special, he was still a child according to the law. His father and his newly wed mistress were not kind. They grew tired of Johnathon’s spirit very fast. Like lighting, they rejected the thought of new existence, and they tried to lock his spirit away. But Johnathon fought, he knew that things would turn out okay. He had heart and he had love that filled his bones. But Johnathon was just a ten-year-old kid at the most, and his body could not fight like his mind.

            In the desert, the sun stayed blistering hot. There was not much shade to go around. Sweat filled gallon buckets in the blind of an eye, and the reptiles that surrounded were venomous. The arachnids that surrounded were venomous. The animals and birds were all so very venomous, but not as venomous as Johnathon’s father. One day while Johnathon was sitting in his room, he was snatched with mightiest of force. He was taken outside, and then was beaten with such hate, I don’t know how that little fella didn’t break. But he didn’t, he just shown with his light and his spirit as the blood poured down his body from his wounds. Very soon, Johnathon’s father knew that he would never break, and found some handcuffs that were bought as souvenirs. He chained that poor old Johnathon, and he left his soul to die, but the light inside that boy was just too bright.

            For months, Johnathon sat in the sun and waited for silent death. He prayed nightly for the sweet relief of mercy. “I shall not write, I shall not paint, I shall not do more good,” are the words that now escaped from his lips. His clothes began to melt, as they melded to his skin, and his face was now a mere subtle illusion. His words then turned to mumbles, and his clothes and skin were black, and that’s how Johnathon became the elephant boy.

            But wait! What’s that golden color rising from the ground! That’s that Johnathon boy being saved by his spirit. He lay there with his legs ajar and whispered to himself. “I’m sorry father, I shall not lose faith again.” Then his bones began to stretch with blue morphs tumbled in his skin, and then that golden boy stood up and began to rise. He stood so tall the sky could not contain his super form, and he bumped his head on clouds that reigned the land. Nothing could stop that Johnathon boy. I don’t think anything ever will. That Johnathon boy has no much promise.