Two More Years

He sits in the corner of the room. His face is sad; his arms covered in bruises and marks. He is a child of abuse. A broken family. Blown apart by the winds of stress and change. There are many like him in the world. He lives in every town, goes to every school. At every bus stop and restaurant you find him, always sad and bleeding. A beating heart ripped from a dying body. He bears the scars of the world on his mottled back. Pain and agony intertwine in pattern of neglect.

In elementary school he is scared. He won’t talk to the other kids; he won’t talk to anyone really. He sits in silence staring at his fingers. He tries to concentrate but he can’t. He is too busy drowning in violence to hear the simple message the teacher holds. In middle school he meets others like him. They form a motley crew of casts and slings. Bruises and Breaks; Black and Blue. Boys with hair to hide their hurting eyes; girls with pants bigger than their sorrow. Black shirts, red sleeves, failing grades. Still drowning in river. No life line in sight; nothing to hold to. Still older in high school he meets a girl. She is young and fair. First love brings first true pain. He is dark and angry, and she is scared. He is too nice. What does he want? She avoids him. He gets angry. His arms fail; yellow and green spots on her arms. She is happy. The pain makes it real; he loves her.

Two more years on there is a child. A quivering lump of humanity. Already tainted by the cruel, indifferent world. He, too, will sit in the corner, alone and scared. He, too, will die even before he begins to live.