In the green orange orchid under the blue sea sits a boy watching the girls picking the fruit. He is the wandering boy, the 7th neglected son. He speaks to widows and carries their pots of water to their doorsteps. He is a good boy but he wants to end it all. He wants to leave this place, the place where he is only a good boy and nothing more. He wants to be more than the watcher.

He sees too much, he knows too many people’s secrets and he wants to run away from it all- no, he has to run away from it all. It will eat him up and he can’t control it. He blinks back tears as he remembers the daughter who drowned, the brother who lost his sight in war, the families torn apart with feud. He can’t hold them together forever. He can’t hold those secrets. The pressure – he has no endurance. He is tired of them feeding off his energy, his hope.

He glares at the birds, free and soaring to the edges of the mountains. He glares at them with jealousy. What would they do without him? Who would be the glue? He walks up to the girl in the orchid and picks the orange that is just above her reach.

“Here,” he smiles bitterly. He accepts his fate.

For now.