I haven't written much original stuff lately and so I'm not sure how this has turned out, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. :D

Just Like Water

A small boy sat in a garden surrounded by trees and shrubs blocking the sunlight from hitting him as he sat on the soil. He played with the tiny blades of grass that were growing all around him. As he did, he felt a tiny drop of water splash on the side of his neck and run down the smooth curve where his neck met his shoulder. He ignored it initially, but when he felt another fall on his nose he looked up at the sky and saw the leaves at the top of the trees bend down under the weight of the raindrops splashing on top of them.

He watched as the rain fell from the tops of the trees to the bottom of the forest, making the surrounding area glisten with water droplets. The surfaces of some of the leaves that the boy could see now looked shiny and smooth thanks to the water and as for the others, he found himself amazed at how the water just run off, almost as if it had never been there.

The small boy wished that he could be like those droplets of water – the one's that just run off, leaving no trace that they had ever been there. He wished that he could just run away and leave no mark; no trace of his existence. He wished he could just hide away, like the leaves that were hidden from the sunlight. He wished he could just disappear, find somewhere dark and out of the way.

The boy lay down on the ground facing the sky and closed his eyes, stopping the water from splashing in them. He lay with his arms stretched out, the palms of his hands facing upwards, catching the water that fell. He then made two fists with his hands, trapping all the water that had landed on his palms. It felt good, trapping the water. It felt like he was getting back at the people who had trapped him. For a moment he felt strong, powerful, free to do anything he liked, trap anything he liked. But as soon as he moved his hands from the ground, he felt the water run out of his fist and fall to the ground. It had escaped, something the boy wished he could do every day: escape. Except, he couldn't escape; couldn't just run out of the trap he was in like the water had just demonstrated. He was stuck within the trap he was in and he couldn't do a damn thing about it – not like water.

The boy continued to lie on the ground with the rain pouring over him, soaking him through, for hours until it grew dark and it was time to go back to the hell he called home. He walked back through the forest, all the way back to the hole in a fence that led to the back garden of the place he lived and snuck across the grass, avoiding the lights that were on in the house and made his way into his room – his only other sacred place in the tiny world he was living in – and as he sat on his bed, after changing out of his wet clothes, staring out of his window and the pouring rain, he wished for a second that he could be free: just like water.