The Boy And The Old Man

He liked playing in the dirt. Dirt was fun. The other kids never saw beyond the sand and grime but there was something more to it. There was a whole microcosm of existence. An entire world unknown. Of course, he didn’t know all these words. He just knew that if he sat really still on the edge of the pit he could see a lot of interesting things. Ants building an empire, cockroaches mating… you just had to have patience and you could see a lot of interesting things. He was a very clever young boy this one. Rather a recluse, but clever nonetheless. He’d always known that he was slightly different from the other kids. The clear contrast that this situation represented between them and him was not lost on the boy. They were all over in the corner of the park with the slides and swings making a racket, their mums and dads sitting back, watching them approvingly. The only person who could see him, was some old man sat on a bench a few hundred yards away. He liked it that way. People ask a lot of really dull questions when you were around them. The kids you could probably forgive, but the adults who’d been around for forty or fifty years each… he wondered what their excuse was. He was awoken from his reverie by a unique sight. A couple of Fireflies looked like they were about to mate… he had seen this before and he knew he was in for a treat. Fireflies usually put on a good show when they mate. But as he sit back in anticipation, one of the Fireflies just swallowed the other one. The insects never ceased to amaze. There was so much one could learn from them.

The old man put on his glasses. Age had not been kind to him. You could see that he had led an interesting existence, pockmarked as he was with the souvenirs of battles past. But the life force was deserting him. It was getting dark fast and the only light was from the Fireflies flitting about. He had been watching the boy for a long time, transfixed. Every detail was exactly as he had remembered it. The trees, the darkness, the insects… everything. He wondered if the boy could have had any friends at all. All alone like that in a dark corner of the park. Unlikely; he seemed too wrapped up in his own little world.

The boy was interrupted from his day dreaming by the sight of the old man getting up from his bench. He seemed to be walking towards him. The boy was annoyed. Why would no one leave him alone, he wondered. A wave of contempt swept over him as watched the frail old-timer hobble closer and closer. He hoped he would never be in that particular predicament some day. He hoped someone would put him out of his misery long before he was such a sniveling wreck.

The boy crumpled and fell to the ground. The old man put his gun away and waited for the inevitable to happen. It was the best way, the only way he muttered to himself under his breath. I had to be stopped. And this was the best way. A few minutes later, the old man ceased to exist. He had done it. Saved the world. From himself.

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