A Memory of the Lower Ages

a little memoir of mine, i suppose. I just realized how opinionated i used to be back then. :)

 

A Memory of the Lower Ages…  4/22/08

    

^{By David Walz}

 

       The dirty blacktop of a school seemed to glimmer in the hot sky. From far off, one could see heat radiating from the surface, almost an image of unreality, staged at this very school; a trick of the eye.

       Everywhere, children played and laughed merrily. a few stray rubber balls rolled in a majestic, almost lifelike manor. It was as if these two objects moving away were running from reality; running from what seemed to be life. An analogy where a simple game was life and this ball was a pigment of this ‘life’.

      A tall kid walked past every single kid as if they weren’t there. These other children were of a lower grace, and were of no value to him. They were of lesser knowledge; they knew nothing compared to what he could know. The wind wisped at his hair, blowing not only air but a certain entity.

      An elderly woman strode over angrily, her grey brow furrowed in a strange manor.

     “You boy! D- did you, did you TAKE something from another child? Would YOU do that? Did you take THIS? Hmm DAVID?” The woman spoke, a small piece of candy lay in the palm of the woman’s hand. Her voice sounded scratched and frail, like it had been used too often in it’s hayday; now it was weak.

      For the first time, David noticed another small kid huddled near the old woman’s waist.

     “What’s it TO ‘YEH, Mrs. Worrel?” he said dully.

     “it belongs to someone else! You can’t just throw it down!” Cried Mrs. Worrel inadvertently.

      David glared at Mrs. Worrel; his expression seemingly provoking her, daring her, to punish him. Mrs. Worrel gritted her teeth and growled, as if she herself were being antagonized by David, rather than the other kid,

       “You are a disturbed child”.

       David simply stood there, empty of feelings. He had left his feelings back home with his bunny, Mr. Chomps. He had been thrown into the canyon near midnight, a time where David, five years old, was at most vulnerable. He remembered the howl of a beast. He remembered seeing the dark shadow of his poor rabbit against the moonlight, looking around. He remembered the snarl, and watching as Mr. Chomp’s shadow disappeared, and would never return. The innocence of the moment, the anger he never could have felt at such a sickening moment. He was seven now. Now, there were no rules. Who cared if a dumb kid lost his candy? Who cared about the woman who yelled, yet still cared? Who cared? Who would ask Why?

           All he could think of was a single word: Three letters and one syllable. “Why”.

            Why was he standing here, no words spoken? Glaring into the eyes of this putrid old woman? Blinking, David returned to reality. Mrs. Worrel stood there, her arms crossed. He glanced at the kid huddled at Mrs. Worrel’s side. She was a short blonde kid. She looked up angrily. He noticed the anger enforced tear the kid had let escape her vibrent, innocent eyes.

           Suddenly, this kid jumped up at him.

            “It was MY candy! Daddy got it for me. He GOT IT FOR ME, and YOU took it away from me!” she screamed, more tears rushing from her small green eyes. Her tone was young, and babyish. She was frowning, with her gleaming eyes looking right into his. A weak punch landed on his chest with a thud. It was a dull thud that caused no pain to him whatsoever.

Yet it was all the pain to him.

           David was still young himself. This little girl gazing up at him, she couldn’t have been more than five years old. David had no way of coping with the innocent, or coping with any problem at that. The only resoultion he knew, the only resolution he would ever know, was violence.

            David took a step closer to the girl. She confusingly looked up, as if he had no right to come any closer. Reaching out, he lifted the girl with his big, seven-year-old hands.

             “Wha- What are you doing?!” She yelled in a quiet, almost whisper of a tone. Besides her tear drenched face, David could see sweat now ooze down her childlike cheek. Mrs. Worrel screamed feircely in the background.  Though all David could hear was the faint whishing of the wind and the heavy gasps of his own breath.

             “AAAAHHHHH” screamed the girl at the top of her tiny lungs. Before she knew what was even happening, she was flying across the blacktop. She seemed to soar majestically for the few moments she “flew”.

         She hit the earth with a loud smack, and seconds later began to break into a hearty sob. One hand clutched her tiny knee, a small scrape newly arriving upon her. The other hand covered her face as even more tears bellowed out from within her. Does this kid drink fifty-thousand gallons of water? thought David.

         Mrs. Worrel glared angrily at him. A vengeful look sat upon her ugly face, and her hands clenched tightly into fists. Mrs. Worrel shoved him deep into the earth, cutting up his arms and scraping him quite a bit.

        “Ohhhh” he moaned. David was surprised at the old woman’s strength. She’d seemed so frail and innocent when she wasn’t angry. He found this strangely, ‘cool’ about her. Wiping an anticipating tear, he moaned once again.

*    *   *   *   *    *

         David and the rest of his classmates strode over to their classroom. Unsurprisingly, he found his teacher, Mrs. Huffer and the principal, Mr. Catgomee waiting for him. Before he could say a single word, Mrs. Huffer grabbed his nose and pulled him into the corner.

         “You stick your nose there and DON’T move!” she hollered. Pressing his face against the wall, David sniffled. He hated this part of punishment. He felt as if he weren’t the one in control anymore, like everything was out of his hands. He couldn’t help but feel slightly monotonous as well.

           “Now, now, Mrs. Huffer, let’s calm down. There’s a way we can handle this peacefully. “ He could hear Mr. Catgomee argue abrasively in the hallway. He could faintly hear Mrs. Huffer argue back. David felt as though he should go into the hallway and become a part of the conversation, but that didn’t seem possible at this point.

           From far off, David heard the faint clicking of metal. Glancing out the window, he saw a police officer cuff Mrs. Worrel, and push her into the back of a patrol car. He couldn’t help but grin. Another officer was saying something to the little girl David had thrown. He watched as the two officers got into the car and drove off, eventually flipping on their siren about a hundred feet ahead.  He remembered how fond he had grown of Mrs. Worrel after she had shoved him down. Could he have saved her from her apposing arrest if he hadn’t have thrown the girl? Should he have just cooperated?

         David watched silently as the speeding cop car soon faded away, out of his vision, and was gone. Gone. David would never see her again. It was a day he would never forget. He doubted he would ever even forget Mrs. worrel, the woman who shoved him into the dirty blacktop on that hot day…

Author's Note

far too many capitals for my taste. Did this awhile ago...