Short story #4. The Children.

Another short piece I wrote a couple months back. I thought I already shared it on here but I guess I didn’t, so here it is.

It’s one of those that started with me simply journaling and then turned into creatively writing out of a different character. I’m always fascinated by the process of writing but these particular moments almost feel like out of body experiences and are most thrilling. It’s so crazy how it is possible to suddenly, pen and paper being the sole vehicle in which you travel, be transported into the mind of another character and all of a sudden see the world through a different set of eyes.

It makes me never want to stop.

Okay, enough said.

Here it is, for real this time.

The Children.

Three kids are playing outside my kitchen window and instead of loading the dishwasher I observe them. I can’t help it.
Their laughter draws me in.
I wish it would always stay that simple.
The girl is dressed in a long pink dress covering her legs all the way down to her ankles and on top of it she proudly wears a flowy, red mantle. She said her sister dared her to dress like that. I told her I like it.
I really do.
She looks like a heroine.
It gives me hope, reminding me that some still believe they can save this world. I don’t ever want to be the one to crush those beliefs- I want them to re-teach me to dream in that same, brave way. The dreamers are the ones that will make all wrong things right again. I know it.
The two boys are running around, chasing each other, pointing guns.
They are so naive, and yet I wish nothing more than for them to forever stay that way.
I don’t want them to realise what we have become
-heartless monsters coldly destroying each other, becoming the extinction of the very thing that keeps us alive.
I’d rather want them to always just see life as an innocent, carefree game. I want their world to never grow into more than the giant playground that it now is.
Deep inside, I know it’s already too late. I’m the naive one.
They already know that there is something out there to fight.
They already know that, by simply being born, they were unvoluntarily entered into this cruel game called life. Some say it’s a blessing, others a curse. I’m not sure anymore- maybe it’s both. It might look like innocent play, but one day they will no longer be boys but grown up men, the plastic guns exchanged for real ones.
One day, I hope to God not for a long time, she will no longer be a girl but a grown woman, no longer a heroine in a pretty dress but a real one fighting and protecting the things that truly matter.

They already know.

All I can do is pray and hope that when that day comes, they will pick the right side of this fight.
Pray and show them.
I can show them.
I have to show them.

Hanna Streng


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