he watches children run by, their
laughter slamming his ears in a painful
sort of way.
he sees adults talking to one another by
a dimly lit fire, their eyes shining with
knowledge and wisdom.
he glances at his own two hands, wondering
whether he, too, would run or talk like the others.
growing up left him with questions,
piles on piles like endless paperwork,
wondering whether he really was enough.
and now, the boy, almost an adult, was still
just a boy, with nothing stacked under his
belt for him to show and say: look, look, i did it!
he would forever be with the laughing stock;
haha, such a noble son could not gain anything
on his own? for shame, for shame!
his existence would never be of those his age,
the ones with their own homes and families.
he would always be stuck as the little boy.
so he runs, only tonight for now, up, up, up
the valley until his feet bleed and his hands dirt.
he thinks of those living lives he would never have,
his scorn and frustration growing with every step.
the boy stares down the cliff,
watching the smoke of bonfires and
rising chatter of fellow villagers.
he looks up into the sky, the stars
shining above with the small slit
of a moon barely visible in the night.
he sucks in a breath, lungs filling with
air, and he thinks, tomorrow.
it will all be over tomorrow. Shu J. Liu (they/them) is a teen writer from Canada. Their work has appeared in multiple literary magazines, such as Rewrite the Stars Review. They're on Instagram @wlvshuu.
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